The fountain Arena

Photo credit: pixel.com When the sun set gently  Under the sky's duvet sweetly, I gazed at the fortune glory of its days Towering my head to console my heavy face; Seeing the soul moulding my fort  Lining in a state of consumed hope Birthed for a prided miracle by past seas. On, I play the squid contest  That seized my panting facade of Mystery debt to soul and dreams, Sending every momentary pleasure onward. I heard this friendly old self saying, "You've walked the part We set together Forcefully, Holding thy fragile heart still You've kept us in the snow-burning abyss  Where all our comfort is rekindled  Either for mystery or a cold bath." Hear self, hear  Give heed to trophy sage; Spice your sour courage aright And Keep your hunted feet onshore. On this twilight scene, I gaze on  To witness the death of a dying sun, And its rising from the suffering rest; When the light was flirt on looted shine Afar and then. Again, I told self in a hush voice Loud enough to

The cold is pampering my gentle skin Piping my seized breath Away from warming snow  As the refrigerator would  To preserve my lacerated bones a stick That race endlessly without a rival My teeth dance naked to an unheard beat Swinging its white crystals in shattered joy Hurrying to glance through all frozen arm  And lukewarm tears which Streams like a foreign guest to my stock body Afflicting my tormented skin anew  Blending every region into an antarctic station Taiwo Ayeni ©2022 Brief analysis Four seasons birth the circle of a year; the summer season, the winter,the autumn or fall and the spring. Each season with their effect on nature and human in its. As for this poem, it concerns itself with the aesthetics and soft pampering of the winter call. The prevailing imagery metamorphosis the visual imagery ( as refrigerator would) and tactile imagery ( pampering my gentle skin ) to recreate the effect of winter chilling that romance the poet skin, "blending every region into an a

photo credit: pxhere.com His still voice awakens our burden mist Out of its overstayed fast Even our weary feet Seized to tarry any yonder without Its masters sitting in His steadfast court Praising our thirsty effort Forth in a glory call READ HELLO AUGUST    His call, Our first sermon harvested from a fertile soil awaiting fetish word Galloping every wasted dream   Panting,           racing,                     praying and seeking Endlessly As our days of sobering is dead And a new gate of patience is here   The glory of our latter Will surely be greater than the former; The gate of our locked seed will be opened For bountiful ripe   Scaling through all uncouth sky Bowing all frustrated honor With royal glamour Setting our light high   Yeshua shall set us all right Pouring on us endlessly His ceaseless light For our brighter glory delight Even forsaken for us to be the elect READ:  SUNDAY MORN     We shall shine

Yesterday we bade July farewell After a long thirty and one days of cleansing Now you are here with us  Looking gallant and feeble  Cooling our lips with your freezy smile Even the water splashes you threw smoothen Our thirsty soil whose pant causes fame Sit oh sit, dear August and soak our feet with bliss  Of melodious Folk comfort with rest and peace  Seized under your chilled fount  Until the passing of the new month Calling gate of perfect symphony our guest Hold with you first fall And second trickling by ripe solo In third feast of heat and chimney And five decor of blue skin Hovering around the earth above Taiwo Ayeni ©2022 Read also Dyslexiod Brief analysis ... When a new month appears, there is always a prayer we make in our silence corner.  And that is, "this new month should be better than the later".   The content of this short read isn't far from this prayer, as the poet tries to plead with the new month (August) to with hold the harshness of the previous mon