Poems by David Seventhy-eight phalmist

 

For You

Life’s Chef has burnt th-rice,
giving you tyme to spies out, hidden lPhilosopher

ody is dawn drawn on the skin of a chess match,
where we stick-scratch risks to make fires itch.
Oops!
Hope’s hoops leaves us without leaves.
Passing us through needle holes to patch the soul.
Still you are a pawn. poverty harms your name,
from abra-harm to abra-hurt, abra-pain, abra-vain, abra-failed
till abrafrailed leaving a-bra with no breast,
no yeast,as all your bread-ren are leaven.
Abraham, how many stars can you can’t?
How many livers have you pool-ed?
To make scores of mohammed salads when hungry.
For you, the days simply pass or fail too hurriedly to Exam-ine.
They sink like trees spun out of archaic memories.

Doctor

Doctor, i’ve been patient for too lung,
languishing like Aids without aid.
My Labour-artries are in vein,
for you murder my pleas and Tea-se, in hurt morgue
you sip them slow for break-fast
and tell me ”lover-boy ur-ine for a piss off”
but i want to make s-miles of your distance,
to kiss and hold you with surgical g-love
These 12lines are written with qu-ills of a sick man,
these tree quatrains are im-planted in regimens
to a girl, from a buoy, so drowned in boat water,
and pills, he Dose-n’t want to liv-her.

Olodo Rabata 

(a dull lad’s essay on the day he’ll never forget)

with a chalk, i strolled to the black b-road like A FREE CAR, when AUNTY ARTICA asked me to spell a corn-tree, she swore to give me A SHEER of brutal pun-ishment, with hurt whips as ugly as an HORSE-TRAILER, made into a Christmas scape goat YOU ROPE, if i couldn’t. A friend mouthed silently, his lips in a NUT “A-MERRY-CAR”. I was bard at spelling, and better spilling urine down my groin, as aunty cained my buttock, i kept SOUTH-ING ”AMERICA…”

The New Husband

you must choose his wealthy PENNIES over my PENIS,
and ig-KNORR brightest MAGGI STARS for herod’s promise,
because the BREAD of REALI-TEA aren’t baked with flowers.
Though 6 years, isn’t MUSH-ROOMS for a FUN-GUY,
i’ll find a way to turn this dirge of 6 lines into a pun,
and love you like an adultress HOUSED in a TENT commandment.

Legacy

I maid eat to the final CORN TEST! i’m A-MAIZE-ED
i’ve WON defeat’s clothes,roaming on DESSERT sand-wich scorched,
till i ARRESTED purpose as ICE-CRIME in a COP,
and sentenced all adVERSEries into comas.
my legacies, like dead PARENTS, still PAY-RENTS
evergreen along the FLORA SHAWS of the Niger-area.

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