When I-ngels Cried

 

When I-ngels Cried (to Chassidy and Cam)

©K.Omodele 11-13-07

In an urban landscape which crumpled my soul
Where ulterior motives are brushstrokes by
shardy images of an elusive and
scarred-face dream, I barely noticed when two I-ngels* sighed.

In the solace of an early summer lake
in May, when bird chat was an Ella-scat, and while
soothing powder blue caressed over luscious green
and jerk-seasoned smoke, I clearly saw two I-ngels smile.

On the day the sun refused to shine, when freedom

rushed away like a ship on a West African tide

Seperated by bars, brick, glass panes and misery,

my heart tumbled like a stone when two I-ngels cried.

©K.Omodele 11-13-07

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* Angels

Silent Violence

Silent Violence

by Kaya Omodele 11-15-07

Lonely bird in a cage croons longingly
Day by day his tune sours, dims to a wail
Until one night his heart bleeds of silence

Caged and draped in only a muffled wail
Shivering, wings fractured, hauntingly silent
Languishes… Laments…Sighs longingly

One final breath, discomforting silence
Peaceful now? Finally, no more wailing?
No pain? Sorrows dry? No further longing?

Forget singing; I know why a caged bird
wails. Silence is Violence.
Copyright K. Omodele 2007

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Seeking Makeda I: (Journey into Sound)

All rights reserved for The Abeng and My Conscious Pen/
YardCore International, Inc. Publishing

Seeking Makeda I:  (Journey into Sound)

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

Because Makeda is still a symbol of the epitome of African wombmanhood, there was never a time when the Empress was not…

...Empress Divine…
like destiny enshrined in mind and time
as gems essence glows in Solomon’s mines
sublime, King Solomon’s sun-burned sweet
divinely implanted life's breath, heart beat


breath takes
pulse race
pul-sates,
re-so-nates
rhy-thm
re-peats
ke-te,
fun-deh,  bass


vintner’s red glint in long ling-er-ing kiss
on Rosa-moist lips inhaled soul-ful bliss

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

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Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis (When I Write...)

Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis

(When I Write...)
a free-style

©2010 K. Omodele

When I write, I:
seal long–time wounds in my soul
try stitch a heart that’s been torn
mend this conscience I've worn...

When I write, it's like:
slitting my wrists when I vent
scribbling blood with my pen 

        I'm awakening each sense…

When I bleed through my pen, it's like:
purging away old stabbing pains
watching them swirl down the drain
then lifting my face to more rain...

I word to di riddim of drums when I write!
I sound di Abeng from plantations when I’m right !
draw power from village and slums, passage rites!

I AM
Tom Feelings when I write/
Count Ossie when I write/
When blind, more sight/ when dark, more light/
my stain, my plight/my pain, my fight/

I create a unique, lyrical mural -
when I write...
I am right.

©2010 K. Omodele

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  ---

Longing For?

Copyright 2007 K.Omodele all rights reserved

Longing for...

Though you’re here in my heart night and day,
your scent is elusive, faded like life’s first image
Sometimes I can make out your voice sighing my name
light as a whisper of blossoms-sorrel, mango, guava;
gentle as the moonlight’s touch on a blacked-out night.
Night after night after night I can feel your touch
like a Caribbean breeze’s caress, goosing up my skin,
lifting through me like sap in a ganja plant.
Intoxicating. Stimulating.Yearning
for you to appear

near.
Yet
memories
remain as fleeing illusions
to be pursued
but never attained.

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