Archives for category: Poetry

If the message was to teach love

I would like you to know that love

is all there is.

In those moments when anger grows

and enthusiasm turns to mould

my senses in a groove

I call happy stones to stir and move.

If the message was to grow thoughts

as strong as the desert sun

I would like you to know

my actions have become measured feats

as love trickles into waiting fields.

Like a glorious song I remain. 

Love is my only refrain.
Osupa. 2015

I walked into the room
and my heart lost its nerve.

Slowly at first
moving in steady, heady rips
like the slow patter of rain drenching me in a rhythm far beyond myself. 

I tried not to look, tried  to walk away yet my feet carried me all the way to you. 

I tried not to stare , tried to look like I didn’t  care but even the crimson vase ahead caught the glint of your prying eyes.

There you were
looking right through to fondle with my soul.
I knew I wouldn’t recover from this.

Osupa 2015

There is always at least two of me at home. At least two.

The one with eager, minty feet
wonderfully bright
a fiery ball of “high fives”
flinging through doors
laughing aloud with mighty souls in chill mode
lost in own my depths of sweetness
I become the song.
Then there is the other. Me.
Who sits and stares at the twisted roots
who mutters and moans in doubtful tones
carried away by the whispers of doubts
and stirring of fears from hidden paths.

Just remember
the next time you wonder if I am ever home alone?
I`m always home but never alone
I live with my siamese soul.

Osupa 2015

Adorned in our Monday best we were set loose;
blue uniforms
elegantly starched
pressed and patterned
with saintly white stars.
Like the school girls we were
voices rang shrill almost in sync
our feet caught in the rapture of uncertainty
and a morning which stretched for eternity.

We marched on and the land came alive;
a multitude of rickety stalls
a mosaic of warm, smiling faces behind the
wooden pulpits selling a million sugary wares
delightfully wrapped in bright rolls
ready to feed our swelling ranks.

And to school we went;
questions plucked our youthful hearts
as we half listened to the exaggerated snippets
the petty rumors regurgitated from conversations
of the night before when parents spoke in clear tones,
certain we were too young to know.

Did those streets keep a memory of us?
Did those arteries remember our songs as we cut through
the well-worn paths?

Eyes eager with the bounty of the moment
we had it all:
our hearts
our feet
our streets
and friendships forged in the lazy dust
which carried everything and us
in and out of those childhood places
where all our treasures lay.


Osupa 2015

I found you where you left yourself
a tired man
greying and fraying with the anxiety
of upside down dreams.

I found you where you chose to remain
an angry man
growling and prowling from a cycle of
broken-down days.

Sitting in your shadows of tired tales
I listen and lean as you deform the lines,
merrily make up your version of us;
of all those years you could have amounted to more
all those dreams you were forced to ignore
For sure…
If only
If only you didn`t give it all up for…love?

Kindle the pain you must.
Stop yourself from ever moving from here,
keep busy wrestling the truth from yourself
God forbid you give up the joys of
regurgitating the loss of us
that never was.

If the message is to teach love,
I would like  you to know that all there is now is love.
In those  simmering moments when
the fire  of anger grows,
in those weary wakes when
enthusiasm turns to mold,
my rallying senses are seized
in a groove, gentle and warm,
the hassle done
just a steady buzzle of a hum.
If the message is to grow thoughts
positive and strong, like a glorious song I am found.
Happy stones stir,
as thoughts are turned into deeds
and actions roll into measured feats,
emotion finds me and  I the words
willing love to trickle into waiting wells.
Pulped and  softened into perfect hearts
aglow, even now in the heat of the lashing sun,
Love  is here. All can grow.

With scrubs and rubs
and minty mud,
we preen, we cream
we peel and knead.

We layer and lather
with creams and potions,
determined I think
to soften the motions of time.

Remembering the mantra:
“hope in a bottle”,
our eyes stay clouded
with serums and scented valves
as we pursue in earnest this mirage of our mirrored selves.

All rights reserved- Colours of Crazy Poetry Collection- Oluwatoyin Sutton 2014


I come to you with my karmic pain 

bunched and bundled in tight little rolls

let it be said when this story be told

at least I burdened what’s left of me.


The noise in my head, the pulses I feel

come to me in quick pressing droves

I need you now like the air that I breathe

the air is you that is left in me.


Do not be afraid of this manic phase

this place that tears and brings up rage

let it be known that I came to you

to release me from all my feverish foes.



All rights reserved-KOS Poetry  Collection- Oluwatoyin Sutton 2014


Your touch woke me up
your eyes danced around me
willing me to wake.
I was asleep you see, blunted in my retreat
To hear again my own heartbeat, a muffled noise
shuffling somewhere far away from where I stood.

Your eyes stole mine
your fiery feathers stroked my own
raising me from myself.
I was shut away, patiently hidden from all sight.
To see the softness of all that is within
To feel beyond this point of lyrical light.

 As the quiet dawn meets today, I am reminded of you.

Here I am.
With you I remain all of me and more
more of which only you can hope to warm.

All rights reserved- Colours of Crazy Poetry Collection– Oluwatoyin Sutton 2014


Now rooted in the tireless sun,

pod-like muddy concaves lobbed our feet in awkward jaunts,

awake and alive,young and light-

we were in motion.


Maneuvering the familiar landscape,

uneven everything;

narrow gutters encased in concrete tombs,

faded and freckled to near splotchy greyness.




Past the claret homes

splendored in their time bestowed elegance,

past the undulating waves of corrugated metal sheets;

grainy blotches,

patiently browned -interminably oxidized.

 images NEPA poles

Oblivious we were to the crisscross

trespass of electric cables in the soft blue sky,

to the sturdy wooden NEPA poles

tired and bowed almost unsteady,

statuesque and sadly stoic…


..the bric-a-brac of semi urban living,

discombobulated monuments

to what had once been dreamt possible.


All rights reserved-KOS Poetry  Collection- Oluwatoyin Sutton 2014

OSUPA – lightness & brightness

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