Poetry from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies by John Ogunlade

Fear

We tend to know the creeping of fear,
When the monster looms near, just ahead of us
We squeeze our eyes shut and wish a safe dream to befall us,
With bodies shaking...faces clinching...lips twitching,
Our minds make no amelioration
For the mind absorbs all things minus desire for safety -
until indulged by our praying.
The monster, a spirit of separation,
Detaching the earthbound from the eternal soul,
The monster DEATH,
Makes any abode a sick bed,
As we try sawing away edges to avoid the world beyond.
We fear the monster as we gasp cold breath's limited time.

An Eternal Home

A man on the sick bed of separation,
A talking earth lies there for eternal refinery.
His speech is a shooting star from a falling sky --
Pondering listening ears hard for his depart --
Invoking tears on bystanders-a gully of feelings.
His wishes lies on his mortal lip--
To leave companion unrests weaken veins--
Whose flow of blood appointed limited time,
Companions--an onlooker of a passenger--
All helpless watching him going to an eternal world.

Darkest Hour

His mind wanders about,

trying to clutch what makes him internally,
dissolved

but it seems the grip has delved into nothingness.

He is a
shard of broken mirror.

The thought of his late wife

has made his
feeble hands look like a cataract of gore,

from pummels and strewn
of mirror reflecting his awkward self.

Overwhelming sounds aren't
swallowed in the thin air.

Sounds are the clattering of plates, the
thudding of pots and the weeping of his two-years old son.

The chubby
toddler.

The one that gives him joy and halts him from diving deeper
into the darkest hour.

It Can Erupt

Anger 1
It boils.
His mind can't endure choking it back.
The heat inside sear his head.
No iota of grin--a squeezed face.
Now, watch out! A volcano is about to erupt.

Anger 2
The muscle begins to flex.
The teeth gnashes--it vibrates.
The feet is the carrier of a vex lunge.
Hands want a toss in the air to clasp traitor's neck.
Here, it is not opaque! It has repudiate soothe voices.

Anger 3
1....2....3...Explosion!
The opposite receive swollen cheeks from pummels.
When he punches an object rather than the face.
Even the thief ant should cringe--a bestial has evolve.
He scream and entertain gasps of danger.

Alive

Alive, your sneeze stink

the air I breathe till

I make gripes about what disrupts my convalescence

When it seems to linger long like fragrances,

Like fossils, debris, anything, leftovers,

And I growled when its parts emerged from your cough,

Straight to my  face,

I felt the hot air,

I smelt it,

I hate it so much when your sweats plop along with it,

And Alive, it sneaks to your old pants,

Your socks, putrid as your underwear,

Almost could see the tinges of dirt mottling my hands,

But Alive, I poured my last dirt on you,

Underground, I know what it means now,

I want to smell it again,

Encamp and have it whole

As alive it can be.

Alone

Angel

Your heart is weightless when an angel flutters in it. Love. You know it wasn't there right from time. Her heart was tinge with blemishes. Your eyes were just dim and couldn't see it in time past.

Bachelor

You are lopsided and wished you haven't shrunk under her touch. How you should detest her frolics. Her taunts, sneers, and gloats. Unbearable. You pray for a bachelor's life.

Child

Your child still shrieks and sticks her fingers on A...B...C...again and again. A life without trepidation. Just like him. You want to be like A...Alone.


Bio from 2020:
John Ogunlade loves writing flash fictions, poems and short stories and hopes to publish some collections soon. He was long-listed fro the Pendle War Poetry Contest 2018, for his poem, "Far Back in the Dark".  His works are published in Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Anthology (print) and Calameo - The Book of the Sixth Haiku Contest, The Sharpening the Green Pencil (2015). Fevers of the Mind Magazine, and others.