The White House
At the white house, outside the garden daddy put
a bouquet of roses under a bleaching sun,
then, there were cauliflowers closed in a casket
and the weeds scattered over flying flags
Avian flu in my sitting room.
This house is white, cold of snow.
Dark memories, sleeps in, as violet
Beouwulf from the ancient
Not that, these pictures seems blur
Nor what is to come seems clearer.
It raided through it blurness, bluffing
resting at the cathedral of saints
I sit on arm, singing to the holy pest.
beyond her crimson blossoms
Maggots peats and pitfalls – the eternal life?
If there is hell, there is death, then there is
a need to die? White ash, worn as snow white
transfiguration in exudate – then, there is the
Blue washed in a blue, the dead chameleon
Fumes into a teaspoon of prawns
may be in another life, the crab may fish.
as the panther prowl, taking pride of the forest
Ogana D. Okpah is an undergraduate of Plant Science and Biotechnology studying with Nasarawa State University Nigeria. He has been published in Asvamegh Journal, Africanwriter.com, The Rising Phoenix Review and a few others.
Sally Deskins is an artist and writer focusing on perspectives of women including her own. She’s been published internationally and exhibited nationally and has curated several exhibitions and books.