POET SPEAK

FRIDAYOGBA

MAGAZINE

MAY 2012, ISSUE 12

POET OF THEMONTH

PoetSpeak

Owner/Publisher/Editor-in-Chief

Design & Layout:

Jeffery Asheley Brown

ihearyou2005@yahoo.com

Published by:

Poet Speak Publishing

www.poetspeakpublishing.com

Distributed by:

Magcloud.com

Online Edition:

www.issuu.com/poetspeak

MAY 2012 ISSUE 12

magazine

MISSION STATEMENT

Poets are like Literary Prophets/Visionaries.…

Chosen just like Moses to stand on the peak ofmountains and commune with God and receiveinstructions to take back to the masses.…

Come on Poet...go ahead and Speak!!!!

Literary

Prophets

Chosen

2

Speak

FRIDAY

OGBA

FRIDAY

Thank GodIt’s Friday!

Poet Speak Magazine pg.5

A kiss from adistance inloneliness cast toyou,your lips offlowing untastedwine when theseason has comeonit hoofs tosmash the orphanberries buried bythe witheredleaves that lay andguiltiness to laybehind sin as itsshadows draggedon the endlessjourney;mine part hathbeen done to fearthat in eternityswear the bondnow thy turn toaccept the forgeryof mine presence,in this cup ofnothingness thatbrims of mine giftto be drunk fromand in its drowninghallow to hadsunk.Share from mineempty sky dothbeyond mountains,beneath the seaafar this fadingeyes everydayquenching beneathmine,when the sunclutch toit yearningmoments as whatwe shareunwillingly;never to permit itto grow old norfade at thefootpath thatdivides our two bytwo feet, the pointof parting in both

AKiss

FromA

Distance

ways,or the pale colorspainted differentlyin the flesh of theheavy mirrorswhen you werebehind me and thenoise of the wallwas behind youor the superstitionthat greeted mefrom mine mothersold womb as thesun that cling minestubbornforehead;my feet so sore totread a thousandmiles on thyvoyage,to suffer still fromthe same curseI willingly accept forthe loss of what ihave not had, norhold the desiredpain by its hand

drenched with saltin mine presence.The beautifuldream of minesailing thoughtsand feigned being,dream of the daythat mingles both,thou the namebeaten on the wardrum before thebattle againstright andwrong,thou thebeauty that hangsin the balance.

Copyright © 2012 Friday Ogba

Poet Speak Magazine Pg. 7

What more thanthe mystery of thybeauty upon thethe filteringsand, the earth diein heavy witnessdoth nude to thyconsumingembrace of themaddening heatthou lie in clumsybare stomach,bellied with thefisherman's rowboats of dawn;as did the flowingshrubs assemblingat the shore for afisherman'smorning summon,to speak not ill willof those who came

and gohow we've inromance caressedthe beautifulmarks of thytwining dirty backof endlessrubles, ourdeepeningbranded feet onoath of endlesstraverse.Step here andthere,scattered in anuneven mannerthou is an adulteressof many virginlovers;as chickenssearching theearth when night

Thy Beauty Upon The Sand

© 2012 Friday Ogba

caught up withtheir buried seeds,'twas not there tobe for the last timefound, for thesecrets of theirunsatisfiedhunger; only to findthe blood ofanother drainedunder their matchof three fingers.That was nottreasure 'tis lifeburied within thevast of the sandsbreastfeeding the earthwith what we gavethe mattress ofeternal comfort.-vanity upon brow-

Vanity upon ourhanging brow whowon't die whendeath is so dearwhy do we nowbeen so mean tothe price so fair tohath buy,never to have paidthe debt with allour wealth.Where the dustdoth lie we dare tohad followedsubmitting to thesecond self offarewell with hopeof not fulfillingunfaithfulness;thou so shine ofsheen and black onthis water-glimmer

reflections, that inignorance deniedthe curse andsworn the journeyfor beauty toalways treadthroughunchallenged.

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.9

Dusk

Dull impure grey appears in heralding dim-stirwiping away the drool of un tasted memoriesshame lurking beneath the hem of quenched rosesin lone self embraceoil of our dying lamps are now half brimmedits smoke blown in endless flickeras though grey leaves craving to fall on tomb stonesat the edge of an un agued fevered crowall that is left, the half-eaten corpse of our fading hope.

O dusk, o dusk, a half naked momentwhen the weight of our unmade choices are trapped in a combatas the two igniting flints rubbed together-romantic,cast apart as our choices are dumped on the boundaries of bad and goodso we may not have any to linger onwhen sweetness of sins vanish and guiltiness still prevails.

There in your hands was the consuming fires of adulterydewing aimlessly on the shield of a widowwhen the unripe night brings the concubine,the concubine brings the wine,and the widow drunk in the separation of water from winethat is our frightened moment, the prologue of our unjustifiable taste.

Copyright © 2012 Friday Ogba

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.11

Come shall a day when the moon shall cease to shinewhen the shadows shall break away from the bondage of oneness;when roses shall be smashed at the cross-roadwhen our drumming heart shall drum heavily in different rhythm

the violin and piano in same strange song of different sonata.Come shall a day when our binding feet shall as doth a rain from the faceless face of the heavenstaste the dust of this footpathcovered with thorns and laurels in a mingle both;

come shall a day when our mouths shall exchange those chimes of the day for the halleluiahs thathowls in the savannahcome shall that day but come let me love you today,now that the sun is up and i can see your face at night the fireflies might fly to slumber

only both the eyes in the drowning dark left to wondercome let me embrace you and in my dying cradle sleep, so restlook farther beyond the mountains in the west,lest tomorrow shall be the parting of our ways...

The Parting of our Ways

It was the season of the rain, the day that lingering souls stagger in valor of an unbidden vieShadows shroud beneath abdomen, it seem as though the beginning of a voyage of vintage and theberries dangle incessantly on your drape, grapes seek not wine at the gamble presence of ye.The stars were playing in the pond outshining the onyx, the lilies were tossing their heads insomersaulting homage, my poetry unpaged evenly as i salaam at the holy feet of thy enshrinedbeauty.Light faithfully harnessed the rubble of thy shining eyes, gathering laughter and rainbow in its paleveil.The cave of my orphan heart bound to thy endless expectancebeing of black wine, thy hip the twinning path of warrior hood.Thy lamp beheld shimmering fireflies, thunder clap drummed deep in the hard rock of my marrowas lightning nested in your hair, should ye be mine at dusk, the moon shall be our only witnessprophecies untold in boundless of doubts.

The Day that I met Ye

© Friday Ogba

© 2012 Friday Ogba

The touch of masterpiece in all seen and unseentempered, the dust caressed and mouldshath mine deep worthy throat of flowing wine say: 'a craftsman’s pride' and mine manhood praisedoth swaytempered still as mine age flee in mine passing youthand hath touched the vast edge to cast off the shroud and pronounce the beginning. Thence in theway thou still temper still,till faithful death in time hath brought the unchallenged truth, the truth known before what knownhath come and what unknown hath passed to descend to the shallowing earth a humble bed and bringmine end and the beginning of mine second self. Mine beauty 'tis ugliness in common eyes wherepaths divides when parting and in the streets blindness linger, but thy eyes is onethus mistakes die a thousand death beyond thy six fingers;mine heart sore lame untimely what blame argue never to offend.What more than perfection upon perfection to be namedhath thee touched the dust thy twin handsand the beauty that honor self bravado the desired evil doth masks,denied behind the man, and face forthsin to have our knowledge this tasksfarewell only, thee to bid mine endless exploration and forgetsasks How thou a lover so generous made mine gift of gold so rare a necklace and to man minehangman's noosehow mine treasure no longer woo my greedy heart as the black pit of the purest of adultery doth onlymine endless soul to eternal slumber of misunderstanding.

Masterpiece (the Book of Friday)

© 2012 Friday Ogba

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.13

I found bits of me like breadcrumbs…This empty feeling always makes like legs numb.It’s no beat in my ears…My ears have become dead drums.This drink is flat so much to the point it’s just dead rum.Maybe I should turn myself in or wait until the feds come.Everyday….A certain element of me goes away.I shed skin like a snake as I blow away…the tears.And my comfort zone lately has become restricted.No wonder…My past is trying to make a revisit.It’s no wonder I’m conflicted.I lost pieces of myself over time…Due to the fact that I put all of my eggs in one basket.Now a shell of me is in one casket.My mind is/has been reduced to a tennis ball…And the cause of it was being hit too much against a racket.Pieces of me were chopped up by a hatchet.And my well-being was corrupted…I guess you can say someone hacked it.The sound in my heart is unbearable.Its screeching its nails…Its huffing and puffing…But only breathing to fail.It stresses itself out reaching for its tail.And this lesson is only a teaching for the tales.But who will care…The layers that protected my most precious treasure dissolvedAnd the gold that went missing has not yet been solvedThe skin that bind me left with consequences.It left my heart and my soul exposed..And with that…Life decided to knock two birds out with one stone.

The MissingPieces

LynellBoard

Copyright © 2012 Lynell Board

www.poetspeakpublishing.com

been lifting up my face to the clouds

expecting a drink,

but it feels like Heaven has gone Bankrupt

and left me to sink

yet I have plenty of water

to drown in,

an endless flow of tears,

acre after acre of barren land I've walked through

down the years

allowing each potential lover the chance

to hide their shadows well,

I eagerly offered open arms

and lost the ability to tell

what was good for me

and what I should run away from,

while maintaining a hopeful heart

that someday the right one will come

and when that right one arrives,

will I notice, will I see?

or will past failures in love hinder me?

and when that right one arrives,

their devotion, will I mirror it well

or allow foolish hearts from former years

to darkly color my tale?

Copyright © 2012 Jeffery Asheley Brown

That Right one

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.15

Out of the nowhere,The questions came-Can I love you forever?OrAre you but a temporary remedyFor the pain?I danced to the rhythmOf your heartAnd naturally,My soul began to sing;But suddenly,I am questioning everything..You opened the floodgatesOf your loveAnd washed me thoroughly;But now,I am drowning in the possibilityThat you indeedMay not be the one for me..Your touch caresses my skin,Your words massage my mind;Am I wrapped in loveOr have I mistaken it allWith the freedomOf a good time..You make me smileBut,I am far from being complete;You saved me from my circumstanceBut,I am far from being free..Imprisoned by the boundariesOf the floorAs well as the wall;And I suppose my uncertaintySays it all..I am running without directionAnd hiding without cover;I can't seem to feel the loveOf my lover..In the heat of the moment,I gave you the titleOf my hero;But as it turns out,The hero in meHas finally returnedTo claim his roleCOPYRIGHT © 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE

My heart had its desiresBut, I can only express themIn so many words;I wonder if I will ever end upWith someone who is even closeTo what I feel I deserve..Someone who opens the doorAnd cherishes my timeAnd allows his actionsTo demonstrateThat I am always on his mind..A flower,A cardEven when birthdays have passed;Affection,Admiration-Is it too much to ask?

COPYRIGHT (C) 2012KENTRELL BLANCHE

Am I reaching for the stars,Am I making it all a bit too hard?I thought love was a forever thing;Not just some volunteer obligationWith occasional regards..I offerOnly to get taken;I thought that the sacrificeWould pay offBut,I must have been mistaken..I thought that loveWas the missing pieceBut,That salvation has provenTo be awfully brief..I thought that love

Would introduce meTo brand new heightsBut even in his arms,I am alone at night..My heart had its desiresBut, I can only express themIn so many ways;Perhaps there will one day beSomeone who listens toWhat I have to say

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.17

Me and my nurturing spirit-So quick to go out of its wayJust to hear the next man say,'Thank you for being there for me..'But,There comes a timeWhen gratitude and a smileHardly fill my heartTo get me down that extra mile..Give and take-The recipe for balance;But,Shifting scalesCan be so difficult to manage..Give and take-A concept that so many insult;People will drain you dry if you let them..but, it will take a silenced mouth a hundred years to see results..And Lord knowsThat I don't have a hundred yearsTo spare;Foolish is the fishermanWho throws out all of his baitWhen few fish are there..And I have been that foolOn an open sea;Drowning in regret,My heart forgets to breathe..If I plant all of my seedsIn everyone else,What harvest will I have leftFor myself?Me and my nurturing spirit-So quick to assist the next manTo a bountiful life;Consequently,I am left dryCOPYRIGHT © 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE

Kentrell

Blanche

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.19

If you would have never hurt me,I probably wouldn’t knowHow it feels to fall;If you would have never hurt me,I probably wouldn’t be writing at all..But,You pushedAnd my soul gave way;And every since that battle,I have been shedding words of sorrowAlmost every day..In your arms,I felt a Heavenly embrace;You were my angelAnd I never imaginedThat the day would comeThat you would fly away..Resting in the shadows,I thought that my emotionsWould be in the clear;But somehow,Agony has found me here..And reality statesA verdict that fairytales cannot escape;I thought you to be an angelBut,All you have blessed me withIs rattled faith..If you would have never hurt me,I probably would have never picked up a pen;I cherish my poetryBut,I would ball up every pageJust to be back in your armsagain COPYRIGHT © 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE

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