Poetry

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.