| Beautiful African Poems |
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Rust is ripeness, rust,
And the wilted corn-plume.
Pollen is mating-time when swallows
Weave a dance
Of feathered arrows
Thread corn-stalks in winged
Streaks of light, And we love to hear
Spliced phrases of the wind, to hear
Rasps in the field, where corn-leaves
Pierce like bamboo silvers.
Now, garnerers we,
Awaiting rust on tassels, draw
Long shadows from the dusk, wreathe
The thatch in wood-smoke. Laden stalks
Ride the germ’s decay- we await
The promise of the rust.
And the wilted corn-plume.
Pollen is mating-time when swallows
Weave a dance
Of feathered arrows
Thread corn-stalks in winged
Streaks of light, And we love to hear
Spliced phrases of the wind, to hear
Rasps in the field, where corn-leaves
Pierce like bamboo silvers.
Now, garnerers we,
Awaiting rust on tassels, draw
Long shadows from the dusk, wreathe
The thatch in wood-smoke. Laden stalks
Ride the germ’s decay- we await
The promise of the rust.
SEASON
Wole Soyinka
Wole Soyinka
Coming and going these several seasons,
Do stay out on the baobab tree,
Follow where you please your kindred spirits
If indoors is not enough for you.
True it leaks through the thatch when floods brim the
banks,
And the bats and the owls
Often tear in at night through the eaves,
And the harmattan, the bamboo walls
Are ready tender for the fire
That dries the fresh fish up on the rack.
Still, it’s been the healthy stock
To several fingers, to many more will be
Who reach to the sun.
No longer then bestride the threshold
But step in and stay
For good. We know the knife scars
Serrating down your back and front
Like beak of the sword-fish,
And both your ears, notched
As a bondsman to this house,
Are all lerics of your first coming.
Then step in, step in and stay
For her body is tired,
Tired, her milk going sour
Where many more mouths gladden the heart.
Do stay out on the baobab tree,
Follow where you please your kindred spirits
If indoors is not enough for you.
True it leaks through the thatch when floods brim the
banks,
And the bats and the owls
Often tear in at night through the eaves,
And the harmattan, the bamboo walls
Are ready tender for the fire
That dries the fresh fish up on the rack.
Still, it’s been the healthy stock
To several fingers, to many more will be
Who reach to the sun.
No longer then bestride the threshold
But step in and stay
For good. We know the knife scars
Serrating down your back and front
Like beak of the sword-fish,
And both your ears, notched
As a bondsman to this house,
Are all lerics of your first coming.
Then step in, step in and stay
For her body is tired,
Tired, her milk going sour
Where many more mouths gladden the heart.
ABIKU
John P. Clark
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If you have any African Poems that you
think we should publish do send it to us
at hyper@showafrika.com or
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publish your poem(s)
think we should publish do send it to us
at hyper@showafrika.com or
hotidy@yahoo.com. We will be happy to
publish your poem(s)
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