Poem Review: Sunshine Verses
I am an unabashed fan of brass-knuckled poetry. Such verses come from the heart and personal experiences, which are soaked in emotions. They are honest and rip the bandage off.
I had the opportunity of writing reviews of Adodeyin Olaleye. She is a Health Services Administrator, Community Health Consultant, Author, Creative Writer, and Poet based in Lagos, Nigeria.
Her poetry is real — we feel close to the words as if the verses speak our minds and feelings. We review three poems of Adodeyin, also ‘Doyen Sunshine’, as she shines like the Nigerian sun on us with her verses. Let us call these poems ‘Sunshine Verses’.
She is a fountain of experiences, her life filled with joys and sorrows, but that translates into a spring of poetry. I have endeavored to give titles to some of the poems. Here we take up three of her many poems for review.
Poem 1: MY FORTRESS, MY KINGDOM
My heart is a kingdom of its own
Humming upon high and low
Sieving woes, sifting hope
Decanting dregs of sweet sorrowMy mind is a city of no-tell tales
Where the rainbow dances shutting out rain
Where the shadows flicker and stories are made
City of whispering days and many namesMy silence is a fortress of haste spitting me
The place where worries and reason meet
An abode of mourning consoling sheer grief
Here, passion screams and caution mixA kingdom of fleshless sanity
A city of unsung folklore
A fortress of fleeing walls© Olaleye Doyin Sunshine
Commentary on Poem 1:
There is a kingdom within her that defines her personality and life. This poem delves into the layers of her kingdom. This poem is a beautiful expression of the poet’s personality described in the first person. I have never tried this before, so the poem is a first.
My heart is a kingdom of its own
Humming upon high and low
Sieving woes, sifting hope
Decanting dregs of sweet sorrow
In the kingdom within her, there is a queen, jurist, and judge. That kingdom has its values and morals. It handles its affairs of success and failure, highs and lows. It hums songs of hope while filtering the woes that flowed into their heart.
“Inside each of us are memories, fantasies, and desires for home — a shelter waiting to be built, a place of peace to be revisited.”
― Louisa Thomsen Brits, The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Living Well
Not only hope and peace but also a little bit of sorrow. But there is a clear method and structure for the emotions, memories, and decisions.
My mind is a city of no-tell tales
Where the rainbow dances shutting out rain
Where the shadows flicker and stories are made
City of whispering days and many names
Now, this sounds like the shady, eerie stage of light and shadows, much like Gotham City. The mind is a universe, a continent, and a city. A city that has its own stories.
Stories of dancing rainbows and shadows, whispers and stories, people and names. Imagine walking through the streets of this city, reflecting on the life and times of our inner universe.
My silence is a fortress of haste spitting me
The place where worries and reason meet
An abode of mourning consoling sheer grief
Here, passion screams and caution mix
The fortress inside her is a dynamic city — a city full of people with thoughts and action. There is an external face to this kingdom — the face of the person. The struggle for the person to keep silent when the inner universe is willing to spit and spew is a conflict.
The kingdom — the mind has an emotional and a rational part, and there are a lot of conflicts between them. Finally, it is the place where there is a locker for putting away the losses, in the form of mourning.
When the mind falls for emotion, just spins off in an orgy of passion, while there is a part of the mind that cautions to be careful.
“My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. […]. I’m two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren’t attached.”
― Fernando Pessoa , The Book of Disquiet
The ‘within’ has its struggles and then with the ‘without’. The emotional twin constantly tussles with the rational one. The universe of the mind and soul is chaotic but wonderful.
A kingdom of fleshless sanity
A city of unsung folklore
A fortress of fleeing walls
The soul and the mind are fleshless. But they are part of her ‘sane kingdom’, which reflects her being. Like every city, there is a person’s lifetime of unsung folklore.
“Inside us, there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.”
― José Saramago, Blindness
A canvas full of stories, a fortress that has four chambers, that pumps out life with a rhythmic beat; the fortress of life.
Poem 2: WHO WILL BEAT MY DADDY
I trip over my doll; a slap
I slip across the tiles; a spank
I slumber on my homework; really beating
Let me forget to eat my lunch; I’m dealt with!
Who will beat my daddy?He says he’s the best
His eyelids never know rest
He alone speaks wise words
That his tongue finds no wrong
Who can beat my daddy?I scream at night, he will beat me
I mop his suit, he will beat me
I jump on the pillow, he beats me
I wash his wristwatch, he will still beat me
Who will beat my daddy too?Over dinner, I must not speak
But with mum, he will laugh and gist
He will yell “Where’s your table manners?”
Yet he discusses office matters
Please come and beat my daddy©Doyin Sunshine
Commentary on Poem 2:
It is not tough love. It is parental abuse. To get into the mind of a child abused by its father is a tough act. But how it comes out as a poem that evokes the ache and anguish from a child’s perspective, dipped in innocence is the act of a master.
I trip over my doll; a slap
I slip across the tiles; a spank
I slumber on my homework; really beating
Let me forget to eat my lunch; I’m dealt with!
Who will beat my daddy?
The stick speaks for the father, for he has no words of love. His hand is longer than his love and that’s that. The little girl has her little acts and little stumbles, but all that little one needs in this world is a hug and a kiss. But…
This daddy has issues — with the girl getting a slap, a spank, and a real beating all for little things — tripping over her doll, slipping across tiles, and a little slumbering on her homework. It is worse when she forgets to eat her lunch. She is ‘dealt with’.
Is Daddy not ever wrong? Does the man she looks at as a hero, is now the person who she is scared of? To the point of questioning the fact that who would ever call him out for what he is doing to her, and worse, if somebody could beat him.
He says he’s the best
His eyelids never know rest
He alone speaks wise words
That his tongue finds no wrong
Who can beat my daddy?
A father is supposed to be a hero. Ah, if he says so. Don’t all daughters look at their fathers as heroes? Stereotypically, yes. In her case too ( A too perfect father, he is). The point is who is perfect? But he says he is. He is the best. He is hardworking and his eyelids never rest. He is wise and speaks nothing wrong. And so, he has it all figured out.
“My fate is afraid of my father”+-0
― Dr.P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar
He is so perfect. And that is where my problem is. He wants me to be perfect. I am a little child, and all I want is his love. Who will beat him, like he does to me?
I scream at night, he will beat me
I mop his suit, he will beat me
I jump on the pillow, he beats me
I wash his wristwatch, he will still beat me
Who will beat my daddy too?
This goes on further. I am already feeling my skin crawl, don’t you?
The father beats the child, almost for every action or inaction. What would the child do?
“Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul.”
― Dave Pelzer, A Child Called “It”
Her carefree actions or careful demonstration of dutifulness receive his stick. The child screams from a nightmare, the answer is the stick. The little screams in the night, the girl wets her father’s suit, or she dips his wristwatch wet, again, the answer is the stick. The stick is the answer to everything. Now, who will yield the stick to her daddy?
Honestly, the poem is deeply hurting every decent soul, rooting for the child.
Over dinner, I must not speak
But with mum, he will laugh and gist
He will yell “Where’s your table manners?”
Yet he discusses office matters
Please come and beat my daddy
This one takes the cake. The child’s father laughs and chats with her mother, and discusses office matters on the table, which he has strictly forbidden. But he would not allow the child to speak on the table, yelling at him about her table manners. Now, she asks anybody, anybody who can wield a stick on her daddy.
The poet makes a strong case for ‘Spare the rod and save the child’, from a child’s perspective. The anguish and appeal of the young mind is coming through the poet’s verses.
“We are supposed to call poison medicine and wonder why we’re always sick.”
― Stefan Molyneux
The poem focuses on the ‘glorification of the stick’ which is ‘calling the poison medicine.’ Put yourself in the child’s shoes, then you know why we are always sick. The poet brings it out this problem of ‘screaming and kicking.’
Poem 3: Chain of Love
I had thought love would rescue me
from the depths of my troubled sea
alas, it brought pain
a non-ending lethal chainin my heart, a battle does rage
amidst love, age, an unyielding cage
I long for the comfort of your touch
yet the fear of hurt leaves me clutchmy mind is torn, my soul empty
between what is…what was left
I had hoped love would bring me peace
in its stead, more strife to my leaseI am haunted by memories of you
by moments I dread our love untrue
now I wander and roam
in this wilderness that’s far from homehere I stand, torn to shreds and in pain
wishing love still has me sane
though I grieve
I promise I’ll never leave©️Doyin Sunshine
Commentary on Poem 3:
This poem dips into a palette of cynicism and paints a picture of love, but the final stroke of that brush on the canvas is about hope. Such poems make us better readers, and connoisseurs of the art of poetry.
I had thought love would rescue me
from the depths of my troubled sea
alas, it brought pain
a non-ending lethal chain
We all want love in our lives. Love is synonymous with life. But there are some times when love tests us. Love is the manifestation of hope and expectations, which is why love is also complex.
The protagonist of this poem had great faith and expectations from love, and therefore, her lover. Life, as she has seen it, has played truant with her. Love, therefore, was her bulwark against the tempest of life. But, love played truant with her.
“He’s like a drug for you, Bella.”
― Stephenie Meyer, Eclipse
Sometimes love can feel like a powerful drug, and those who experience it can become addicted to the feeling. It’s easy to believe that love is the cure for all of life’s problems. However, in the case of our protagonist, love only brought her endless pain and shattered her dreams instead of being the rescue she needed in a turbulent sea.
in my heart, a battle does rage
amidst love, age, an unyielding cage
I long for the comfort of your touch
yet the fear of hurt leaves me clutch
Life sometimes throws things at us. They aren’t fair and straight. It turned her life upside down. Her silent fight within herself as she is fighting her heart, pumping with love and rushing against her ribcage. Such rage needs assuaging, with a comforting touch from him. It is a relationship that she has looked up to, a source of personal solace. But the hands that rock the cradle also are those pinch the child. It is a nightmarish dilemma for a person who leans on love to bail her out on life.
“Love is a longing for becoming one with another human being that nobody of us can avoid.”
― Tatjana Ostojic
Love is a long game. Love is also a longing game. Amid the things that she likes to forget, love is the one she wants to cling to.
my mind is torn, my soul empty
between what is…what was left
I had hoped love would bring me peace
in its stead, more strife to my lease
Love should have brought her peace. Her lover and the bond that the love was supposed to bring. If her mind was a bag holding all the great memories, her absence has torn that bag, and the memories have fallen away. Now, both her mind and soul are empty.
Empty or nothingness is the state beyond ecstasy and pain. The feeling of emptiness grows into a state of existential indifference. The numb feeling is when the soul is empty and gives up hope on even love. Love was to bring peace as we saw earlier but it has brought home more strife to her.
I am haunted by memories of you
by moments I dread our love untrue
now I wander and roam
in this wilderness that’s far from home
Her lover is not around, and we may not know the reasons. But his absence and memories haunt her. The absence of what we had and took for granted deepens the sense of loss, for it questions the presence itself.
“Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great.”
― Roger de Bussy-Rabutin
The absence of her lover inflames her dread — for she now considers her love imaginary or maybe that it never happened. Such thoughts are recouping responses to the trauma because of his absence. She wanders and roams in places away from her home, which she calls ‘wilderness’.
here I stand, torn to shreds and in pain
wishing love still has me sane
though I grieve
I promise I’ll never leave
The nothingness that love has left behind because her lover has gone, perhaps for a long time has resulted in pain. Her heart and soul are empty and torn into shreds. Such a situation would have taken a turn for the worse, but the poet holds out hope with her promise.
She will stay put and weather the storm of emptiness, and hopes that love will bring back her lover and restore the long sought-after peace.
Sunshine in her verses:
Doyen Sunshine, Adodoyen Olalaye, our tribute poet today, has her way with verses, spewing sunshine along her way.
“She was like the sun,
She knew her place in the world -
She would shine again regardless
of all the storms and changeable weather
She wouldn’t adjust her purpose
for things that pass.”
― Nikki Rowe
Sun shines upon all things equally, bringing out the ants as well as the termites. The warmth feeds lives and humanity. Be it love or loss, be it triumphs or tribulations, Doyen’s poetry shines equally like the summer sun itself.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2023
