SEASONS OF BEING

Fleet the pageant – such is life

Of acts and scenes lived out in time

At once a farce, same roll for all-

Heirs to eternity, tromped by sin.

While as yet the wagon rolls….

Carting our wares from post to post

Far from the birthing pool, lapping on

Our reveling hearts swell with song.

But when the maestro drops his staff

And silence stills the chorus line…

Words forgotten upon our lips

Burn with penance late for the sky.

And so lies the mannequin in steady gaze

Scenes of winter, scenes of spring……

Of seed-time and harvest caught in frames

Not per chance or fabled law-

But in accord with mystic lore.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi©

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PLACES OF THE HEART

PLACES OF THE HEART

Placid beaches - stretched sandy lanes;

White breaking surf nibbling eager toes
Cozy vistas  far a flung

Enraptured beings lost in  the haze.
Pleasures as such by guilty tabs despoiled-

Nothing like the surety of a place called home.

Scaling slopes - cuddling airy mounts

Where the air is crisp …pristine song

Thrill seekers every where joshing so-

Embrace the wind on  ski - thrust breasts

While cabin fires with fragrant logs aglow

Dole warmth not akin to a homely heath.

Where love’s pickets bound the soul

Smiles and laughter tickle the lyre…

And there by the nurturing kitchen table

We gather for the breaking of bread

With time honored ghosts of kindred fold

There in their hallowed midst love abides.

Sure ginger bread moments oft' erupt

When each other’s neck we dare to snap

Yet the balm of kindred bliss, heals the pain-

For each heart bears a harvest of cheer.

Dream if you dare of bright spots under the sun

Where revelers go chasing water falls;

My circling wagon has wrapped its hitch:

I’m heading home - my sacred place of the heart.

Author: Hope Kale Ewusi ©

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FLOWERING ROAD

 

Hanging, gliding - adrift

Dawn's buoyant thrust-

Pondering the motley turf

Straddling distant homesteads....

There you were; full buxom blossom-

 Lonely rose in a cactus patch

Exuding rare sensuous essence....

Eclipsing the collective allure

Of daisies and daffodils in the fold.

Writhing through this prickly maze

My pulse races as I dangle in space;

When at last your sweet essence

My tongue did taste......

I heaved and moaned and died a second-

Smothered by the heat of passion.

Then the wood pecker's earthy drills

Recharges my very soul.......

I feel my mercury rise

As your dew drenched petals

Beg for one more dance-

Before the rat race begins

Author: Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

WHO FEELS IT, KNOWS IT

Men have left their hearts

Upon her altar;

Upon her mantle, left their hats-

All smitten by her star.

And women like wise

Have dreamt of him

And probed his guises…

His deck of cards, his every whim.

I've  heard of a word called love

Of which bards and crooners sing

 Melodies like cherubic ditties from above

Yet seldom in seeking hearts her bells do ring.

Of what use then is this quest

That buckles men to their knees

And Cupid importuned by ladies’ requests

Why such rabbits, our hearts yet seek?

By

Hope Kale Ewusi©