HER MOTHER

Okugbule Wonodi

She stood still at break of day,

the palm tree, erect and slim;

I see her still but who would say

that such rays could dim

and hopes sway.

What a Tuesday was it

when the sun went to sea?

Alas! Alas!

The poor’s deposit

that ‘s drawn and sealed.

You hear me;

let sense sane and stay,

we ate here

you and me

and now she’s dead and away

down mortals’ stream.

The morning food,

warmed in a platter of broken pot,

the gentle slap on the back,

to warn a rascal  and correct

are forever gone.

She stood firm on her work,

she, godlike feeder,

now lives

beyond the reaches of thought

and sight.

Where the gods

that she called night and day

in sacrificial belief?

The earth god

thunder and sun

where stood they ?

she’s dead and none,

not one stands to say:

“She lived well”

And  here we stand

Lonely and dry.

AUGUST BREAK

Okogbule Wonodi

After three months of long break

The land is a sodden bed

Of dried pond. The tarred roads shine

Fine threads of steam to the air.

The playground jump and chatter

With the presence of children

In games abandoned yesterday

When the sky was falling tears.

The streets bustle with vendors,

Calling their wares by sweet names;

And the radio shops yell  out

The rival sounds of  Highlife