Smiling, she sits snugly, in her old rocking chair. The worn floorboards, creaking
Like the bones in her back. The faint light in her eye
Rising, like the morning star, and setting
Only when each meticulous story, has been told.
Her soothing cocoa voice, like warm porridge, and muesli –gritty,
Balmy remedy to my aching soul. Her stately pulled back braids, fixed neat, into a bun.
Just one strand falling loose, onto her glowing face, she spins a tale.
“Tell us a story Mama Tella”, in rehearsed chorus, we cry,
“Just one, more story please, Mama Tella”, before we say goodnight.
Then raucous laughter. Splitting the cracks in her face, like an ocean liner, shattering ice.
And a chuckle, escaping from the sides of her mouth, in gigantic, Bursting bubbles of joy and sound.
With a flick of her wrist, a slight twist in her chair, Mouth opens Wide, like a drawbridge let down.
And words, like neatly dressed tin -soldiers, Marching in unison, come, tumbling out.
And as they come marching, they reveal a great treasure chest, long harboured Many- a -Tale in her head.
For grand- Mama Tella, is her marvellous fine name. And as she knits, each new story... she magnifies, her fame.
By Elizabeth Haruna
Notes: "This poem is about the auntie, uncle or perhaps grandparent, who you always loved to hear tell you bedtime stories at night. Drawing upon my African heritage, I use the poem to describe the magic and wonder experienced when listening to a good bedtime story... The name of the poem itself betrays this, "Mama Tella" is in fact short for "Grand Mama Tella"- or "Grandmother Story-Teller" and sets about drawing you into her wonderfu tales."
Icarus -Girl 
Floating above the safe waters in the ripples of the sky,
Serenely, softly gliding, beneath an opaque ceiling of clouds.
She turns effortlessly, and makes a supple supine arch, one wing dips
Into the surreal pond, of her life.
Moving graciously, and without a sound - she suddenly lifts up
Breaks through the curious clouds,
But memory of Icarus, brings her swiftly... back down,
Above, the waters edge.
Ricocheting thoughts of love, for her nostalgia was spent-
Embracing the taut sky, with her wings,
(Instead of her good friends).
It was always, in reminiscence... that her moments seemed their sweetest.
II
Now, innocence flies beyond a turbulent storm.
Rumbling fears, tepidly calm.
For she took the gracious flight and made the ultimate break,
From below the cumulus clouds.
Visions, soaring through the vast emptiness of her mind- it’s time,
She had decided, it’s time.
And so, she takes the final dive, into her grave.
By Elizabeth Haruna
Inspired
You reminded me of what it felt like, to mount upon the wings of my, imagination
And to fly... Like an Oriole, set free in the blue sky, your smile
Lifted me. Flowering hope, took shape
And shone, through the stain glass-windows of my heart, depicting Technicolor- joy
Infused, with a majestic, sound.
The magic of your mind lit a fuse in my thoughts, and the spark, shone so bright
That it illuminated the dark and cryptic codes, hidden messages of my once, forgotten dreams...
I can taste it, the sharp twist of the realisation as its infusion of taste, inundates my senses, and
Heightens my taste buds for life.
Fear
No longer, need eclipse my mind.
Your word like light, sprouting in the depths of my soul.
Opening up buds of vision and, of hungry growth.
A certain, magic set free in my eye, as it trips,
Over the Glorious sight, of my future.
Breathable breeze. And new horizons beckon, because now
My understanding, has been opened and your star,
Has placidly led me to the point, where destiny, crosses her path, with my goals.
My being, lifted and warmed. Because hope gaily bounces in my heart, and,
Matured Faith has sustained me, through a thorny, and poison –ivy path.
In the box of my heart,
Hope sprouts wings, fluttering, in busy flight
And still, going...
Let my, words
Fly to you. And kiss you,
That you, would ever - feel...
Inspired.
By Elizabeth Haruna
Green Rose
Blue-wispy, sharp skies
Mind bruised, crazed and withering.
She’s dressed in orange.
Green. Deep reaching roots
Lightning pulse, because feelings
Branch. Laconic spell.
Golden and complete.
Heart –storm gently permeates
Rustling bags, grown quiet.
Red-rose, dusty street.
Unfolding... heart blooms, it turns
Towards his strong warmth.
By Elizabeth Haruna
"Wild"
We were once confined
To the prisons, of open spaces, between
Trees. Trimmed, of our pride
And our desire, to go forward. Grown
From Sherwood’s forest... Our sixth-sense
Of Persephone, lost.
Bulldozing our way
Through…
Continual
Growth
Defies us,
Wild.
“I will be free”
Once more.
By Elizabeth Haruna
© 2005 Elizabeth Haruna