{"id":7550,"date":"2020-12-20T19:46:50","date_gmt":"2020-12-20T19:46:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/?p=7550"},"modified":"2020-12-20T19:46:50","modified_gmt":"2020-12-20T19:46:50","slug":"cameo-in-deed-a-metric-poem-by-sochukwu-ivye","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/cameo-in-deed-a-metric-poem-by-sochukwu-ivye\/","title":{"rendered":"Cameo In Deed – A Metric Poem by Sochukwu Ivye"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Poet: Sochukwu Ivye
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\nBio: Sochukwu Ivye is a linguistic stylistician, a rhythmist and a distinctive metrist. A final-year student of English Language and Literature, he is particularly interested in English Language (as opposed to English Literature) topics. His work, The Great Cold, an epic poem, is the longest metrical poem by an African. Sochukwu hails from Isseke, an ancient Igbo town in Eastern Nigeria.
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\nEditor’s remark: this work makes for a very long read, strictly for the connoisseurs.
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\nBooks in deed define your pet name for you<\/p>\n

I well brook them for their station quite true<\/p>\n

Do you make one thing of such depictions?<\/p>\n

I see but made-up scenes lived like fictions<\/p>\n

A well penned note, a far-famed actor’s role<\/p>\n

or a gemstone, books outline, not your soul<\/p>\n

My soul shall not rest boneless for its child,<\/p>\n

your pet name, led and captured in the wild<\/p>\n

Even if moments with you calmed me more<\/p>\n

they left me, each time, with a heart of sore<\/p>\n

Now, I should not learn why on our first day<\/p>\n

my poor spirit caught cold under your sway<\/p>\n

I could have seen what was in store for me,<\/p>\n

but blindfolded, my eyes were not thus free<\/p>\n

My mind is fraught with memories unclean,<\/p>\n

like a frenzied boy’s eyes caught at a scene<\/p>\n

I write to sweep my breast of your pictures,<\/p>\n

and breathe thus freshly, eluding strictures<\/p>\n

I should let all these saunter past my grasp<\/p>\n

but they would dwell in me till my last gasp<\/p>\n

As one of those all-youthful twilights came,<\/p>\n

with mates, I sat and eased on all the same<\/p>\n

The abrupt wind which threw in your figure<\/p>\n

might have not longed to assess my vigour<\/p>\n

I had found most of the street’s best ladies<\/p>\n

I knew most but could win none or maybes<\/p>\n

A call came; my heart and eyes led my legs,<\/p>\n

and I went for you, although to some dregs<\/p>\n

It did seem that I had made one cute move,<\/p>\n

but if hours, days and years, after did prove<\/p>\n

I heard none else, but listened for your ‘yes’<\/p>\n

I was the leopard; you seemed as harmless<\/p>\n

I led the thought that I had seen some gold<\/p>\n

and beat the past, but there was the untold<\/p>\n

There were times my feet even cried in pain<\/p>\n

They had to take me to you, though, in vain<\/p>\n

The first years nursed me like a newly born<\/p>\n

Who would evoke the tales of the lovelorn?<\/p>\n

Nothing felt frightful about how hearts halt<\/p>\n

But, O heartache! Into wounds, you rub salt<\/p>\n

Signs cried out to me; my senses sat numb<\/p>\n

Omens played in my eyes; I just grew dumb<\/p>\n

What would destroy my soul arose on time<\/p>\n

You took no time to divulge this love-crime<\/p>\n

How to meet your heart turned to my worry<\/p>\n

If some thoughts met my mind, I was sorry<\/p>\n

My warmth with you was a style of worship<\/p>\n

To lure mates, the female display courtship<\/p>\n

Everybody will say, “Some date themselves”<\/p>\n

Well, who spare any hearts on any shelves?<\/p>\n

My poise was fate-doomed: I left other girls<\/p>\n

but because you dressed like a lot of pearls<\/p>\n

I saw you when, at some girls else, I looked<\/p>\n

in that all my care and lust you had hooked<\/p>\n

My long search for the one came to an end,<\/p>\n

but would fetch a verse I had never penned<\/p>\n

A certain affaire caught our breaths to fare,<\/p>\n

but no man who saw tomorrow would dare<\/p>\n

I had to walk through some muddy love life<\/p>\n

believing that such would win one the wife<\/p>\n

You toyed with my rest and sullied my face,<\/p>\n

thus that I could not lead myself with grace<\/p>\n

Civil linguists say: no schwa, no triphthong<\/p>\n

To merit a four-faced, what was my wrong?<\/p>\n

My mates kept us and adorned your image,<\/p>\n

because they were hopeful of our marriage<\/p>\n

Friends at work, school and on the internet<\/p>\n

did honour my Miss World and her vignette<\/p>\n

All who wished me ill did not want you well<\/p>\n

They won, to have met my right woman fell<\/p>\n

You did cradle their traps to bring me down<\/p>\n

How would I see but roam, about, a clown?<\/p>\n

Whose only lover stabs them from behind?<\/p>\n

Indulge me, how do they like the cut, blind?<\/p>\n

One overreached oneself if one’s ship sank<\/p>\n

as did mine, a short distance past the bank<\/p>\n

I had once more begun to thrive, it seemed:<\/p>\n

all my vows to you I could score redeemed<\/p>\n

You well noticed how and lauded my nerve<\/p>\n

but the base of your mind laid your reserve<\/p>\n

To tag me new, my past knew less passion<\/p>\n

but this foul-souled lust lent a new fashion<\/p>\n

Your plots I did foil with some selfless acts<\/p>\n

May I applaud your grins that read impacts<\/p>\n

If you confessed your doubts about dating<\/p>\n

you found me hungry for your love, waiting<\/p>\n

I served kind judgement in will and in deed,<\/p>\n

but saw not when I would bewail my breed<\/p>\n

You did have my skin to breed some itches<\/p>\n

and my waking brow to wear more stitches<\/p>\n

I hoped that my silence smelt of most men<\/p>\n

To your requests, my deeds echoed: Amen<\/p>\n

You were well at it while you called me dad,<\/p>\n

your longing and rightfully yours. How sad!<\/p>\n

My groping heart did head for your kindred<\/p>\n

Could it meet them in one year or hundred?<\/p>\n

My nightmares unmasked overhanging ills,<\/p>\n

but you dismissed them as offensive chills<\/p>\n

To your dream men I took you, like a bridge<\/p>\n

Who misreads you cannot repulse a midge<\/p>\n

Except behind closed eyes, I was not yours<\/p>\n

Until you felt hurt, past me shut your doors<\/p>\n

You felt faceless to show me to your peers;<\/p>\n

quick eyes saw: I was the prey all the years<\/p>\n

I came out thus strongly despite your plots<\/p>\n

to confess the fact: we must brave our lots<\/p>\n

Do I miss your hugs I once scored faithful?<\/p>\n

Or, your burning brow I did weigh graceful?<\/p>\n

Now, for my blindness that still beheld love,<\/p>\n

I must watch to tell the hawk from the dove<\/p>\n

Now that yours of all lives is led four-faced,<\/p>\n

who would still run into your likes in haste?<\/p>\n

The eyes that see you have known a Judas<\/p>\n

and must give heed to a snake in the grass<\/p>\n

Knowledge is might but I loathe this lesson<\/p>\n

Yet through you, my inner might did lessen<\/p>\n

How you could sift nothing but rip my trust,<\/p>\n

and ask to have it again, struck me trussed<\/p>\n

I did pledge my trust, and met all my words;<\/p>\n

your still small voice did fly away with birds<\/p>\n

You had not come to plant or mend fences,<\/p>\n

but to steal my heart and numb my senses<\/p>\n

That ours was unknown to your confidants<\/p>\n

blew me as my encounters with your aunts<\/p>\n

We had struck as one, but you posed alone<\/p>\n

scratching for wooers, moving on your own<\/p>\n

We named our unborn, having built a home<\/p>\n

An abode solely of steel, glass and chrome<\/p>\n

Who builds a home and for a lifetime plans,<\/p>\n

with a woman who does refuse her hands?<\/p>\n

Fate struck me moneyless to clear my eyes<\/p>\n

I saw one yet nailed downwardly crosswise<\/p>\n

I was the one. Who could have believed all?<\/p>\n

You did not stand me but fashioned my fall<\/p>\n

To have dug my pit and feigned innocence,<\/p>\n

you did shear me in deed of my sixth sense<\/p>\n

I sought your face while I missed my wallet<\/p>\n

If you feigned love, amounts left my pocket<\/p>\n

Think that my ageing parent laid her health,<\/p>\n

so that you would be with me, all by stealth<\/p>\n

She peddled things to get me some money<\/p>\n

You kept all and more. Were taps so runny?<\/p>\n

If mom’s and my head abandoned your heft<\/p>\n

you well did in deed not deem them so deft<\/p>\n

My good mother, the marrow for my bones;<\/p>\n

she dared all, just to build up my hormones<\/p>\n

My eyes and mind were tried by some devil<\/p>\n

I could not strive through but, weakly, revel<\/p>\n

In your chasteness, the acts you titled fuss<\/p>\n

you observed with your boys but denied us<\/p>\n

You relished to hear but truths but well lied<\/p>\n

You extolled me as meek but fed your pride<\/p>\n

Your yes was but yes and your no sheer no<\/p>\n

because your heart was a rock in the snow<\/p>\n

I did most days bear guilts, could you ever?<\/p>\n

All bent knees were mine, as you felt clever<\/p>\n

The venom you fed me became some soup<\/p>\n

Breaking out of us could not feign a swoop<\/p>\n

I incurred more ache when you feigned pity<\/p>\n

and shook at your plots sticking thus gritty<\/p>\n

When I had smelt myself trapped in a maze<\/p>\n

time past time failed me to defeat my craze<\/p>\n

You were almost done with your fell intents<\/p>\n

when you could pay no heed to my laments<\/p>\n

I saw no hope as your heart failed to shake<\/p>\n

I held my heart soft and faint for more ache<\/p>\n

I watched us turn to walkway souls, quickly<\/p>\n

All my labour forthwith crushed, thus sickly<\/p>\n

I had marked the last of my love times past<\/p>\n

but had yet to vanquish the spells you cast<\/p>\n

Of the most foul-souled, the most silent are<\/p>\n

If I was ruined, who would breed a memoir?<\/p>\n

You chose Janus’ month to cast me to rout<\/p>\n

but my God of doorways could lead me out<\/p>\n

Could ceasing one’s life taste like a refuge?<\/p>\n

The practice yet finds me as then and huge<\/p>\n

I should gulp some drinks and submit inert<\/p>\n

but something struck my dying deeply hurt<\/p>\n

I saw my mother’s book of days half closed<\/p>\n

In front of my heart, her face in tears posed<\/p>\n

The dead parts of me made out of my form;<\/p>\n

they stuck in wait for my breath to conform<\/p>\n

Nothing else held the rest of me but mom’s<\/p>\n

Her rheum of distress fell like barrel bombs<\/p>\n

Had my landlord’s daughter not run to help,<\/p>\n

who anywhere would take heed of my yelp?<\/p>\n

Chika had but sought to succour my plight;<\/p>\n

the whole of me, her nearness would ignite<\/p>\n

I did predict that she would seize your seat;<\/p>\n

having smelt your place, she called it a feat<\/p>\n

Once again, my soul did meet one so loose<\/p>\n

but she found me in your filth thus profuse<\/p>\n

She would fall for a soul with no such work<\/p>\n

and not when she had known many a quirk<\/p>\n

She thought that I should not let you away;<\/p>\n

I knew that she would see better, someday<\/p>\n

She copied your looks and copied your gait<\/p>\n

Not for her use; she is mirthful, but straight<\/p>\n

How much more anguish did I have to feel?<\/p>\n

Which suicide chart had I more to conceal?<\/p>\n

For your foulness, what other grants had I?<\/p>\n

Was there something else I did have to try?<\/p>\n

Except you feigned them expecting returns<\/p>\n

you had no care, but cast my balm to burns<\/p>\n

I thought to myself that I had less strength,<\/p>\n

if I could keep a sweetheart at arm’s length<\/p>\n

I wondered what could render me thus foul<\/p>\n

and shorn of wits, but now at myself scowl<\/p>\n

I considered how tides would flow and ebb<\/p>\n

Drowned in ill hopes, I was caught in a web<\/p>\n

How you robbed me of my faith and reason<\/p>\n

but filled your boys’ would rout any treason<\/p>\n

It shook me while your voice within lay stiff<\/p>\n

You must have killed her to enjoy your skiff<\/p>\n

If I outlive these days, meet some soul else,<\/p>\n

but like her less, shall we say our farewells?<\/p>\n

While I pray that the well esteemed forgives<\/p>\n

I fear that my scared soul beyond now lives<\/p>\n

The leopard now mourns his meeting a linx<\/p>\n

I could not see myself pull through this jinx<\/p>\n

May all who follow closely mark your mode<\/p>\n

and how you wrecked my spirits and abode<\/p>\n

All that learn from the price that I have paid<\/p>\n

shall meet the oncoming days, better made<\/p>\n

I have loved. All who come after may watch<\/p>\n

He that may wear love, my case is a swatch<\/p>\n

Should I grow feeble and slump at this crux<\/p>\n

all must deny more blood such state of flux<\/p>\n

If anything slits my soul, some shame does<\/p>\n

And through the space, I see but a dim fuzz<\/p>\n

I howl in deed to think on these things ours<\/p>\n

but placate my spent spirit, bearing flowers<\/p>\n

How you could hurt and soothe like Cassio,<\/p>\n

Shakespeare knew not the name as Cameo<\/p>\n

Of your foul likes, our era should be cleared<\/p>\n

to keep many from the collapse well feared<\/p>\n

Your followers would with you be punished,<\/p>\n

if they kept not from your path all-banished<\/p>\n

Reap your will, get fat and gain all the world<\/p>\n

From vivid eyes, bear your intent well furled<\/p>\n

Win your admired and let his heart no crack<\/p>\n

but then, may our days at no time turn back<\/p>\n

May your breed never again know my heart,<\/p>\n

whilst I bunch up my fragments flung apart.<\/strong>
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\n 
\nRobin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times<\/a> at Artvilla.com<\/a> ; his publications include
\n 
\nAll the Babble of the Souk<\/em> <\/a>, Cartoon Molecules<\/em>, Next Arrivals<\/em> and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems<\/em>, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande\u00b4s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist<\/em> <\/a> and the recently published Tesserae<\/em> <\/a> <\/u>, a translation of Carmen Crespo\u00b4s Teselas.
\n 
\nYou may visit Aquillrelle.com\/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop <\/a>about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)<\/a><\/p>\n

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Poet: Sochukwu Ivye   Bio: Sochukwu Ivye is a linguistic stylistician, a rhythmist and a distinctive metrist. A final-year student of English Language and Literature, he is particularly interested in English Language (as opposed to English Literature) topics. His work, The Great Cold, an epic poem, is the longest metrical poem by an African. Sochukwu … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[808,796,366,401,43,928],"tags":[929,18,136,874],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7550"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7550"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7550\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7555,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7550\/revisions\/7555"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7550"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7550"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7550"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}