Society, Politics

SHE HAS A WIFE
(1st January, 2008.)
A date she rejects,
From a cute dude;
“Oh crumbs!” She said,
Collapsing into giggles.
“Who’s the lady…?”
What a duff - a dud globe,
Skirt a trouser has become;
She has a wife,
Wedlock of breasts it is.
Woman – a Man has turn to…
-B. M. Atsen
WHY?
(October, 2005.)
‘Cause trouble has bubble double
Making the masses captives,
Depriving their surviving veins
Of their share of blood;
From the still they stood.
They are imagining imaginations
Of impossible possibilities
And hard hardness;
For politics they plead,
No, Poly – thieves they breed.
For democracy they call,
No, The – more – crazy they fall.
Now better bitter bitter – leaves,
Than sweet sugared – sweets.
They prefer green for white.
-B. M. Atsen

POT – BELLIED BROTHERS
(10th August, 2007.)
Neither of us have no reason
To treason though imprisoned.
Yes! Incarcerated in our house
By Pot – bellied brothers in white rooms
Sleeping on two pillows – one’s ours.
All ‘cause we’re penurious citizens;
We, penn’orth per day can afford.
We’re ‘morrows’ heroes
But – Ha ha ha!
“Tomorrows’ zeroes,” they said…
That in flamed the belief of cynics;
“They’re intensifying their Agbda pockets
From the house treasury.
Retribution of anarchy may befall us
If Pot – bellied brothers
Continuously dominate our house;
“They will make it an eccentric dregs!”
Ask not why in free verse,
The house is under democracy.
-B. M. Atsen








AKUBEN
(June, 2005.)
Akuben, the shadow of night,
Akuben, the shade of light.
Elegance a measure has not,
Lest she a glimpse of it.
When akimbo Akuben stands,
Who the slender resist?
As the clouds scuds’ at dawn
She scurried off with alacrity;
Basket on head – sickle in it,
And home wards ground Acha glides.
When from fire Gote drops,
Who Its seductions resist?
Akin to her dead scarf
Respect is showered.
Scurrilous acts hate she,
Albeit mocked are the
Soft coinless fingers…
Akuben; dark sun of Dorng.
-B. M. Atsen











FALLEN FLOWER
(3rd February, 2010.)
I had a white apple flower;
My flower was a Male,
My flower was a Female,
My flower was what you named it.
Though I named it handsome,
Though I named it beauty,
I named it what I found fit.
My flower entertained rodents;
My flower waited not for insects,
Insects would’ve pollinated and fruit it,
But rodents only polluted and wasted it.
Patient flowers remained chaste,
Patient flowers remained virgins,
Patient flowers fought – they became apples.
-B. M. Atsen
THE WORLD GOES LEFT
(1st July, 2008.)
The world revolves aback,
This instance but for zilch.
The lady sight I – tresses dark,
In sassily skimpy flags to church.
Thought she, is smart;
Imagined she, is right.
‘Bante,’ though my oldest woman wore,
But fallen had nowt her virginity.
As this pretentious whore;
Twee horse tresses and rag – Alfalfaly.
The world goes left,
Please! Don’t be next.
-B. M. Atsen


CHILD’S CRY
(22nd June, 2007.)
Innocent child!
Tomorrows leader,
What wrong have you done
To die as a crushed tree leaf?
Your blood has been shed,
Your bones were ground,
Your flesh was torn,
Pieces by that lady.
On that bed of fornication,
Innocent child,
You were conceived.
Was it your fault nor idea?
After the pleasure
At their leisure;
With useless defense
He denied little you.
After that night
Behind the light;
She went abusing drugs
To kill little you.
And you, wicked doctor!
Your hands in the womb,
Crushing with metal
The innocent child.
Cry no more innocent one!
Weep no more young heart!
They shall surely pay,
Aborting innocent you.
-B. M. Atsen



LAW OF RECEIVING
(17th April, 2009.)
This law hence, flocked my thought
With caressing strokes that taught:
That, that couldn’t make your rhyme
Is enough to take someone’s lime.
Someone just need a palm to clasp
To kill the awfully buzzing wasp.
But you’ve got a palm and a rake
To strike the rolling, hissing snake.
Let go the last little dime
At just any point in time.
Like this widow I knew
Gave her mite – though not new.
-B. M. Atsen