Poem by J.D. Koikoibo

Dying Embers, A Stettin, Flickr

After we have done deals,

you bring you, here’s me
and we will call it ours
as we gather again,
like firewood in Mother’s hearth.

And, as our rough edges kiss,
sparking hot conversations
about ghosts of moons gone,
the fruit is a fire that cooks

our spirit for the moons to come.

And, after we have downed meals,
wood depart, fire gasps for breath,
but with puffed cheeks, we blow kisses
from faraway lands
to keep embers breathing

till you bring you, and I me,
as we gather again,
like firewood in Mother’s hearth.

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Poem by J. D. Koikoibo

aerial view of Oil Rivers by www.imagekind.com

Chocolate water, home-thirsty travellers,
groaning engines, bouncing boats,
sprinting breeze, billowing shirts
pained buttocks, straightening backs
checking gunboats, pointed guns
throttled speed, surrendering hands;
higher, higher, even higher:

“Where to?” Where else but home?

Waving forests, ripening farms,
big, miming waves, dancing canoes,
curling creeks cuddled by loving creektowns,
orange lights cast on black skies,
like the sun stayed up late
to welcome sons from faraway lands.

But sunset so many and so late?
Ask the moonlight and discover imposter gas fires

You’re astronauts on water,
floating closer, closer to kin
on the moon that is riverside
with diesel-powered starlight struggling for a place

in the dark ahead,

and Barrister Smooth in a muffled tone

tells you, you’re home at last.

Greeting folks, open-arms, welcome home.

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