Fur est Arca: Codes and Colon

*Fur est Arca: Codes and Colon*

John F. Buoye 2017


I have a golden jewel

High-priced as it unwittingly fell

Off the muggee’s tender neck

Into my bandit mental wreck.

I am a thief of fine gold

Of precious stones and diamond cold

Ripping and hauling from feminine nape

Down to my bizarre, cold and yearning cape.


Wealth as meek as kind velvet

I fear may never be yours to covet

This all about my box run

As water damaged pipes have borne.

Wealth to the poor and scarce to the rich

Gentleness much like the sand of the beach

These are ornaments of gold and fine silver lining

But into my hands the enduring pearl has fallen.


I am a bandit of golden jewel

My trade so sacred who can tell?

Missy and young, determined and strong

All in my cottage with words I have strung

Thieving, deceiving, relentless in madness

The maiden is mine, with mouth she’ll confess.

Larger and larger; the box of a thief

I’d sing of all it promises to be brief.


*When We Go Home*

John F. Buoye 2017

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Miles of dust in the ears
Cornet’s unleashed dogs pursues the hound’s soul
To the home of the aged and forgotten
Engines, tyres and smoke
All dancing to the journey’s rhythm:
On my way home
The battering sound of incessant bátà
Bleeds the heart of all city blood
Pure as a dove’s gall he shall be After the rites of promise rekindling
Have again been passed.

Eyes brighter than the noon’s sun
Lips in a hurry to bless
Ecstatic arms to the hug
The bastard city child was welcome home
As though his father
Had taken his mother wife.




At the midnight’s toll

The sixth priest pressed through the curious circle

Of men, women, children and the unborn

With heavy screams of spiritual lips

He stormed ancestral heavens

Forcing them all down

Butt-naked, towel loosely hung

Our fathers and mothers came down


Two nights ago

The owls did not stare

The nightingale chewed its song

The prince was murdered

And the king hung himself

After gutting fire on all he had

Child and blessings alike.

Women’s tears flowed as rivers

Wives became endless rivers themselves.


The drums have burst forth

With powerful gin for the ancestral souls


Our gifts of yams and oil

Should with loud voices cry

Out of your fat bellies.

Answer us now!