Efe Nakpodia

Image by Efe Nakpodia

We argue after noon,
And fight all the way through
The starry lights.

Words stick to your bones
Like bloodstones in plasticine,
So I’ve always known they couldn’t break you.

Fronds on the wet sand resemble
The palm prints you engraved
On my cheek, when the tides rose

Way above sea level.
Silence floats by the edge
Of the moon’s light,

To give noise some time
To flow —out to space.
I’ve been meaning to ask you something:

Once you establish who is right,
Can we take a promenade by the beachhead,
And maybe talk about what we have, left?

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Image by Aurelien Boyer

I made crumble
with the apple of Eden,
and asked the serpent
for some custard.

Mouth waters spill
upon wanting lips,
as slithering tongues tremble
in disbelief.

Medusa says
I have a heart of stone;
I told her it must be marble.
She’s afraid
to look me in the eye:
too afraid
to indulge herself
in the secrets of garden taboos
forever meant to be broken.
I told her she would marvel
at the treasures that lay beneath
these layers of ripened fig leaves,
but she’s too afraid to see who I am:
too afraid to witness
the power of the naked truth,
held within a taste of sweet rebellion.

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creativemarket

Shameful fragments of rivalry
Frolic with edgy nerves unsteeled
In the heat of a bull run.

Beneath sumptuous indiscipline,
The horns of desire kindle folly
Inside the belly of impatience.

Watching the numbers fall
Lower and lower still,
Violets begin to sing the blues
Of hell and high waters.
And I war with the roses of the mind;
Riddling petals with poisoned pellets
Bent on sinking deeper
And deeper still,
Into the ever daunting red.

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Image by Philip-Lorca diCorcia

Dilemmas sit quietly cross legged
Between the devil and a pale blue sea,
Swirling in the back of my throat.

They’re waiting for me to say something
Because silence had taken yet another life,
And it was my turn to read the eulogies.

We all knew she would kill again,
But the look on their faces made the bloody truth
A little hard to swallow…

And those dirty dilemmas were still sitting quietly:
Scheming with the devil, at the back of my throat.

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Efe Nakpodia

Efe Nakpodia

—i am an imagist • iDream • outLOUD • my second book of poetry titled “White Noise and Carousels” is now available on Amazon:) xoxo