Necropolis

Nigeria. Once a metropolis
Then an acropolis
A farmland laid to waste
By old men, weak in the waist
Their tongues, smooth as slime
Their bellies filled with grime
Nigeria. Now a necropolis
Guarded by maggot-infested police

---Thom (Jan 2, 2010)

This Shame

The sun has dimmed on us
The moon has closed her eyes
Our skies rumble, only to rain stones on us
Our forests stand in limbo
Wondering where the medicine men are
Our king, Oh our king
Languishing in some desert kingdom
A toy in the hands of strange men
Strange ailment...
Now our six wise men,
have gone to pay homage to the desert king
He toyed with our king for three moons!
While we gaped and scratched our behinds
In this dance of shame.

--Thom (Feb 23, 2010)

Intercourse...

The fever in my loins grows,
my labia strain to engulf these snippets from the tip
of your rejuvenated rod
You old whore, monger of words
Reprobate seducer of the innocent...
My sword I sheath untill you agree,
this barter, would the book maker's deft hand feel
Thom.

You stir me with your words, like Hitler's craft
You: an artful engineer of words... subtle like a flirting cat
This monster's egg, who laid it?
You see what others dont
Nobody teaches a virgin how to raise her waist
Where is innocence?
Hold your sword and let your loins bleed out offsprings
The world must hear us.
Omini

Now the verse awakes, gliding forth from her harmattan cocoon
The rains of fertility have come
Mating drums roar through the boundless green of my mind
We must strive to drive on and write even as we jive
For the verse in a hungry man, dies
Thom

Let the grass spread her legs for the rains
Oh let the birds of my inswpiration feast on my mind's green where life has built its store
Let juice and cream pour from the loaded groin of our hearts,
an let verses like nightsong of deep river flow from the estatic pens of our souls...
at every jerk.
I think we have come again
Omini

I see your sound, i hear your sight
The flatulence of old, gone!
The recrudescence of my exhaustion dead
I feel the pulse of your mind's green
Would it be waiting, when in the morning,
i stir from this familiar slumber?
Thom.

Deep. Deep, even in slumber the finger of your mind searches
through the bottom of immagination
You, the "lion of Umor Otutu"
You have navigated boundless depths of terror and found the dimond of imagery
Your tomorrow has come! I saw it yesterday... Pregnant: the harvest of our deeds
Omini

I hear crackling sounds, like a soldiers boots on dry bones
This meal of verse has my belly filled
This dam must burst
Aha, did you hear our new name?
Great people, great nation
The priestess lost her mind...
Yes she came from the drug house.
Thom.

Our country: a mental case... a lion with the head of a goat
...reputation like the flavour of pit toilet
Yeah, great nation with leaders: men strong and erect in the holes of other men
In this Sodom, what selling point will the priestess flaunt
...as she paddles the boat with a wooden spoon?
Ah, this grand voyage: a fart in the marketplace; the dance of the befuddled
All drugs have side effects our dear queen!
Omini

XENOPHOBIA

It's a party
Post aparthied
New music, depraved drummers
morbid dance, foreign steps
Painfully, NAIJA steps
But they had our shoulders
when the drummers were fair-skined
Someone tell them...
Bafana Bafana is coming to Abuja
We will pay them back
with the round leather
But touch them? We wont!
Lest it be said that
We NAIJA fear foreigners!

---Bobtee