Forte

They say...

The last new sentence has been writ
Every complex turn of the lexicon seen
Verbs and adjectives
The word new, has become obsolete
This lack of perspective, the death of poetry.


They Say...

All emotions have been felt
On every zenith, a foot has stepped
no stone unturned, all deeds and then
No surprises there, when the tempest tempts.
From climax heaven to earth depressed
From purple high we get bereft
This boring euphoria, the death of poetry.

They say...

Nothing is new under the sun
Yes, women have been under their sons
Incest is boring
In conflict, we're yawning
Babies are walking
A dumb man, orates to the cheers of an audience
We whisper around the deaf
And lurk in shadows when the blind is walking
The lame won an Oscar for running,
Pistorious. Ever capable of loving?

The death of poetry.

So how about we attend the funeral in hordes
Deliver eulogy with breath of life, stuck in throats
Break grounds with words like appellations
Restore order to banana republics and apple nations
Let us live fruitful lives!!!
Make lemonade out of lemons
Before we drown our fears in rivers of water melon
Let us boil yam when we get angry
Let us go nuts.......coupled with garri
Let them dare not predict our sentences
auto correct, lost on our sent tenses!

Let us be poets
Let us be amazing
Let them complain
Cus entropy... 

That is our forte





Written for an anthology, but completed for TAJ, the beautiful one who is almost always Okay.