My Poetry Diary

Ode to my grayish woolly socks, Tightly thou hug my swollen butter feet, In thy comfy room my toes joyously tucks, Howbeit to thy flesh it sinks to bits; Tirelessly thou mop the tears from my toes, Gafar Odubote, “Ode to my Socks”, copyright 2019

The wind is widely awake, Rattling my mind into bits and away, Tossing my essence a thousand mile to thee, To thy abode, a place beside the Baltic Sea. Little longings though disturbing but I crave, For a place in thy secret fairy cave; Where the roses make the night golden hue; And the day a summer butterfly blue O’ wind, now I bid thee to my will; I seek a place where two hearts wantonly seal, Like the waves to the ocean bond from the core, I would lay tangled at thy Baltic shore; Tonight I sail wondrously on thy wings, Like the feather on a summer wind, Tomorrow I care less, only at thy side I want to be; A thousand mile near the Baltic Sea;

Òhún mìí, thou a subtle one but deep, Erstwhile thou sit among the gods and glory, Thy sweetness resonates from beneath the dip, At thy stead, conveys the untold story; Once upon a time a stammering òhún quakes; As a little brat on strings and harmony, Amidst the emeralds and diamond flakes, Òhún broke her chord and lost the symphony;  Thou a warrior, Jaguar of my clan; Without Spears or steel the flesh bleeds at their shriek, Savoring  In beginning was a void, A void broken by a sound; The sound of an eerie voice, My òhún chant as the god of òhún abound; And there it sang, The wisdom of the tides,

As the sun escaped the grasps of prying eyes, I found myself in awe of thy folded arms; I lost my breath in the silhouette of ecstatic cries, No two heart beats as we become singular in folded arms. The shrieks, hoots and wind came at still, The crowds, chaos and gunshots all at ease; There are no cries, wailing, or shrill, In thy folded arms I found my deepest peace. #poetry #foldedArms