Tired Towns

Towns of little commerce near to being ghostly
But for the cheer struck as a match
During the blackout of some storm…

Harmless, love, there is no great harm
In the bars to combat boredom or
The occasional darker stumbling
When time turns frazzled, sparking hours berserk.

Love, so we are sparks
Holding ground often only as angels might flutter
When cyclone-caught.

There are winds here & they have a light
To them, our hands being lamps, our faces
Being lanterns, & we swing, we are
The breakers, coastal, that bob in the elements
As pilots re-finding bearings…

Bars, love?
What prison in these streets of lean economics,
These walls coughing up resources, these tides
Commanding all, & we, just a bit dizzy, we,
The rather awestruck keepers?

I keep your heart warm to shelter us
In that freedom, & you too,
Are banking the blaze, stocking the cabinets,
Securing the moorings.

We have nothing but a world here,
A heap of stone soup.
No, we have nothing but each other
& the days, afloat, keep us.

Stephen Mead

About Ijagun Poetry Journal

Ijagun Poetry Journal is a quarterly journal that provides a platform from which we can tell our own stories in the authenticity of their multiplicity through the poetic medium. We don’t want to hear these stories from our master “griots” alone; we want to hear from those mastering their art, too. Hence, we aim at publishing new and emerging poets. We also welcome the works of established poets in order to encourage the poetic genius of those mastering poetic art. We prize original works that conform to, break or reinvent conventions. Again, we accept reviews and critical essays on poetry. We also accept powerful art works and photographs that make us appreciate the "poetry" in everything.
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