Livingstone Ngoziukwu
Livingstone Ngoziukwu is a Nigeria poet, that hails from the Abia state. He runs an undergraduate program in the National Open University Of Nigeria, Information Technology. He also is a writer in a budding magazine firm in the country's social capital, Lagos state.
COMPLEX CONFUSION
While I suppine on these continual coagulations I dream, of broken bloods on the inside rots of my boats Whirling its buttocks against wooden upheaval.
And the sparrows, unvoiced
in my rivers sprang to sing,
and the waters watched in waves.
O magnificently profane it was
while I dremt,
of unstupouring calmness
in the liquor of our sweet herbs
Of thirsty turmoils in the greenish plentitude of steaming plates, while humble foliages wink us a passage of rays.
And in the mutilation of proper pain
the dove from my throat
renders a chime
of mistuned mellowness.
RAINING
Beauty are the leaves that giggles in the garden
Roughly rending the quiet soulless street, with noises
That these dreams thrist the echoes of gobblets,
While the evening drops tramps against the roofs;
The small thumps of the triangular rain, cruising softly
To the hollow of naked heaps, eager for liquid thrusts,
And the droplets put colourless fingers
Into the grave,
And bloom the flowers that died!
Beauty was the oval joy, that peppered the tongue
Into the tunes of verbal commotions, senseless renditions: the mad mind meanders with an overfull.
The pang of the sensation sat on my gate, like waters that mules licks
The origins of which little I had known, neither
But that for those former days the soul flourished, as reeds that Nile suckle.
But such sights ageless skips eager eulogies
And all that hangs on the crosses of poetic prophets
Where those the eyes fondles. Those the laws of man may adore.
Those ebbing pails that holds no piety!
JULY
we are altering all the hours
the evenings' tumbler tumble down
shattering in a stream: to wake like flowers
in the exulting tones of our yawns.
please, when the finches are done peeking
the liquid remnants of my dank bones, and the doves
flee out my trees, put my tongue on the lentils
of your preserved waters– in your boats, hold me!