As by faith in Ovid’s rhapsody—
an immortal leak of ideas, I am
in the nucleus of a 9-foot-diameter
circle, gulping down pain of years
with unleavened bread; and a goblet
of unfermented grape juice
clasps to my feverish lips.
I am raising energy in a cone; I
cannot find a bundle of old clothes,
but the veil is thinner now.
I succumb to friction—a rush
of names rubbing against my grey
matter, but, first, let up for me
Awolowo to cobble the wreck in
the streets, clear the corpses that
clog our culverts, and unspeak
the youths as lazy; let up for me
seek snippets on transforming
grief to lines of poetry.
Let up for me Einstein, for what
the world needs is a freethinker
and not an orator or snake-oil-
Let up for me Lincoln, Mandela,
Aristotle, Azikiwe, Pythagoras,
Gandhi, Plato, Socrates, Soren.
O spirits (as by trust in this 2 a.m.
dialogue), you might also want
to take home some names, and this,
and by only this, is the world carved
out of wreck.
A magic circle (usually nine feet in diameter) is a circle dawn on the floor (using chalk or salt) or merely visualized by practitioners of ritual magic. It is believed to provide some form of protection or a means of “raising energy” using “a cone of power.”
Lukpata Lomba Joseph
Lukpata Lomba Joseph is a Nigerian poet currently based in Port Harcourt. His work has been previously published in the Tipton Poetry Journal, Jacar Press’s One, South Florida Poetry Journal and elsewhere. Lukpata is fond of writings that explore rustic scenes. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net.
Cover Photo by Daniel Gaffey