I woke up this morning with the thought that poetry is not just about the words, rhythm and rhyme but also about how the words are placed. It is about emphasis; stating the hidden. It is about telling a story with subtle hints, with few words and unclear pictures.

This idea of poetry is what I seek to put to a test in the poem below. I don't know if I am making sense here. Do I ever make sense? Well you tell me.

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RA-TA-TA-TA

Ra-ta-ta-ta...
Bullet echoes poke holes

As

Stumbling bodies crumble,
Greasy fingers caress crisp notes, 
And the sun bathes a flower and a  butterfly. 

---

Ra-ta-ta-ta... 
The singer unstrings his voice, 

Gongs of criers plead with the night,

The masquerade's cackles unmask the moon,

Children pee fear into the heated night

And the river kisses the moon under a mangrove tree.

---

Ra-ta-ta-ta... 
Tapping beggar cane seeks concrete. 

Tell me a story, it says;

Of gods and angels, men and queens, 
Of flooded voices and bleeding forests,
Of empty skies and the silence within, 
Of the scent of Earth after the rains. 

---

Ra-ta-ta-ta... 
Radio man sprays, 

Bullets poke echoes of divided causes

Into the bodies of stale friends

Making peace between the hips of tomorrow.

Come and tell them to die quietly;
The baby is sleeping. 
Come and tell them to take some agidi, 

The road is long

And the boatman takes not coin.

source

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End

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NOTE:
Agidi: a pudding made from maize. It is a staple of the Yoruba ethnic group in the western part of Nigeria.

source
It is usually eaten with moi-moi(bean pudding) or with sauce.

Peace

©@warpedpoetic