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Martins Iyoboyi  (email)


About the Poet:

Martins was born in Edo State of Nigeria.  His poems have appeared in Zone, The Flask Review,

63 Channels, The Bending Spoons, International Zeitschrift, Temenos, Rhythm, Munyori and Contemporary Rhyme.



Now That Age Slowly Creeps


Now that age slowly creeps upon the man

With strength and vigour nigh their midday sun New schemes crop up to take the place of old Like flow’rs that fall to give place to fresh buds!

O calm heart, your spirit yet remains firm To hold on the sweetness that lies with it In deathless glow that paves the lovesome path Where the zealous heart roams his restless way!

For you sweet peerless gem shall ever be The gallant ray the pilgrim looks upon To feed his vast fields that shout with kind joy And await the harvest of all his toil.

When now the hour draws the bone to the dust Calm contemplation of you bears sweet charm.



The Soul Awhispering


The soul awhispers,

‘A treasure is lost,’


Valued vessels, across had sailed

An age is doomed.


The soul awhispers,

‘There a glory was,’


Treed-varieties friendly

Hand in hand in love –


Now restructuring eludes –

Peace arunning.



Silent Stirs


The earth, the outlook transformed

A god in an envelope of wool

The mermaid in view


Gay festivals of the heavenly orb

Earth in merry tears;


Throbs within the beating stuff

Radiate contents futuristic,


A genie of constant prompting

Lights the murk of every damp

Love in concealment,


Opens visions to wide horizons

Desires become gods of themselves


As slaves of men are issued

When silent stirs rear their passions.



The Twilight Lament


A jinx of meditation of the dark,

The fad of most,

That feed journeying age of man,

You are the gawky harbinger of woe

By this ebullient solitude.

Last night, we heard dire strutting,

A killing jollity in a faceless tree

Whereon, in carousing a noise is trumpeted, In the shadows of the innocent age.

What tawdry spectacle of darkness,

A precursor of a deficiency,

Can interpret the actuality of the seed?

Perchance, your lament of yester dusk,

Was among the influence a vendetta,

But no, a resolved blend of hearts,

To the perdition of today.

We are that casual fright in a jiffy,

In readiness of the blatant note,

Whose nocturnal echoes,

Speak of a lovely death of the day.



The Tree


Stately leviathan in force

Snappy against moony advent

Glossy phases replete of brightness

Perpetually buffeted.


He simulates, deafening order

Possessing a twang, sensuous

That antiquated countenance stooped

Soulless beings of ill-bred reason,


A fleck did enlighten,

Seeking adventurers on mirror-flow

Flaming ambition caressing


What dynamic resources

Augmented conviction to explore

The pith of that conference,


Dividing blood from blood,

Ideas from reality,


Blackman from Blackman.