Eyewrite Papers

 By Newton-Ray Ukwuoma Let’s talk about a journey; A longing Our meditation on destiny Come, let’s talk about Greece Our grease A mangrove lying on a coastal tangle Hold my hands: Let’s talk about peace: A tranquil undergrowth Ringed by a naked meadow   Come away, fly like Europa on Zeus’s bull Unplug your mind from this Corolla’s backseat Take up wings and catapult   Your Knight-in-shining-armor struts   Where stones discharge glassy fluids He swims, blazing an African tan on Grecian waters   Stretch damsel like a wet goddess  Hungry for the sun’s heat Unzig your zag, uncoil your legs On this deserted island   Let your eyes greet his groins As Prince Charming digs out of the blue sea A gingerly god trumping ancient demons Let your lips salute Africa like Pysche, Cupid’s arrow   Today’s zeitgeist calls on you Ship your spirit out to cruise Zephyr craves your embrace   Bless the air, vanquish Poseidon’s chains Hug freedom and nail all restraints Also on that cross fix every inward tears

Nemesis I have a secret Sometimes I hear voices,  Loud and timbrel-like wads of words.  I hear them now as I punch these keys  “You are not a writer.  “Stop fooling around.” I examine the keyboard.  These are strange letters.  And those words don’t cease in flow.  I hear another voice Staring into my heart, not knowing It always seems distracted:   “A sentence must be pristine - “Simple and majestic!  “Your syntax is hackneyed.  “It is not top-notch “Don’t write!” The sun is now folding its mat  Ready to relocate to another playground.  The earth is walking away. “Achebe must be angry “Your ancestors are ashamed. “ This is an Embarrassment!” Embarrassment.  That word is an explosive My heart said so.  It tells me things Like how I should have married Sugarcane Yes, that’s what it calls Ifunanya The local drummer, whose sticks control traffic Directing the blood to the groin zone  Americans don’t behave like my heart No one controls their traffic  Everything waits for its turn I took my