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See them hovering above my head,
A mountain of blind winged rodents,
That probe terror from her sleep.
They meant to dance a welcome.
Flap! Flap! Flap!
Their wings echo in the wind.

This is Old Creek Road where Spirogyra creep on the walls,
And the songs of frogs all night and the occasional buzz of cars
Are the only tune that separates us from 'dead silence'.

Here is my home;
Home that is Nicotine.
Home where the feet might leave, but not the heart;
Home that projects the memories of alcohol and weed;
Home the beginning of sad poetry and Rap.

Home where the terrains of flawed parentage
stretch into acres of green
like a Savannah grassland
And the flowers of death blossom from the sunshine of dark memories.
No place is like home,
But home where the echoes of the departed trail sober memories?

Dad still keep the flower vase,
And the grand piano,
And the parrot cage.
Nothing has changed,
Save for my locks that's stretch with the days,
And my face creating erosion paths,
To remind life is on fleet to a gasping end

Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


Haunted..... An engaging write Drey This poem broadly speaks to me in its eloquence of vision and voice, of pasts familiars as it folds into the present possessed of memories like shadows, inescapable, as the dead take their toll on us. The dead living, haunting us, the living dead.

" The longer their dead, the deader they get "
Ann Rice

I hope to engage you further...


author comment

Got that magic mojo working in this very fine poem.
You have a great gift of inviting a reader to your work. Nice changing stances in the work at the right moment.

I have two issues. "No place is like home" is too Wizard of Oz, too easy. easy change for you.

I'm Not sure of the question mark, I can't find the question...

the More important is the last two words "gasping end". The poem to me is upbeat, inspirational. The deeply felt memories and connections of home, "home that is nicotine" (wow, great line, man) home that calls you to be there in your destiny..
I don't sense the gasping so much, like drowning or running out of oxygen, but
a different of "the consummation and the annihilation of the blaze..." (to paraphrase from Delmore Schwartz, a favorite poet). The poem seems to me as an affirmation of home, where there is a permanence. That's the poetic intent I get from the whole poem...which is why I am questioning that word.

As often it is with great pleasure I read your work, and know my comments engage us both.
Have you ever checked out some of those publishers in the USA looking for African voices?

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I'll edit the poem and do the needful. Please check out my latest poem 'Adultery'. I need your recommendation. As for the publishers, finance is still my pproblem. Worst, my PC motherboard crashed, I ccurrently hhave nnothing to wwork with tthan this ffishy phone and replacing it is hard given my humble bbackground and my ccountry's economy.


author comment

I was going to give you names of more publishers of African're good and should be read. Let me ask around and maybe can find some stuff to send you..
Do you need a laptop? Let's discuss privately. I will comment on your other poem later, gladly.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

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