Poems and Poetry

Lament of the Flutes


fold-over-fold free-furrow

mingling old tunes with new.

Tidewash…..Ride me

memories, astride on firm

saddle, wreathed with white

lillies & roses of blood…..


Sing to the rustic flute:

Sing a new note…


Where are the Maytime flowers,

where the roses? What will the

Watermaid bring at sundown,

a garland? A handful of tears?

Sing to the rustic flute:

Sing a new note…


Comes Dawn

gasping thro worn lungs,

Day breathes,

panting like torn horse –


We follow the wind to the fields

Bruising grass leafblade and corn…


Sundown: I draw in my egg head.

Night falls

smearing sore bruises with Sloan’s

boring new holes in old sheets –


We hear them, the talkative pines,

And nightbirds and woodnymphs afar off …


Shall I answer their call,

creep on my underself

out of my snug hole, out of my shell

to the rocks and the fringe for cleansing?

Shall I offer to Idoto

my sandhouse and bones,

then write no more snow-patch?


Sing to the rustic flute.

Sing a new note.



Retrieved from  Archive of Christopher Okigbo poems

{linkr:related;keywords:poems;limit:5;title:Related Articles}

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *