Palm trees inspire us aplenty,
one tree that’s not even on a tap root.
Red palm oil makes native soup colourful,
creamy palm wine clears blurry eye sights,
palm fronds transform into domestic brooms,
rare oils squeeze out of palm kernels,
kernel shells make great buildings,
kernel fluff lights the fires as fuel balls,
stalls, mats, and baskets can sprout from it too,
a pretty sight yet, standing there for us all to see.
Palm trees inspire me aplenty,
like it should be a pen whose ink flows
into plenty, plenty creative harvests.
Ah, Ofuma,
This opened up a new corner of the world to me. Food, home remedies, house tools, even buildings: all of these are completely new to me, yet your poem made our shared world a bit smaller. Often once I get into comments, I do not think about where the different pots come from, but this made me reflect on how we come from many parts of the globe. With this in mind, I most enjoy your final stanza because it connects you and all Poetry Marathoners:
Palm trees inspire me aplenty,
like it should be a pen whose ink drips
into plenty, plenty creative harvests.
My father was a Palm wine tapper , so this poem spoke to me on a very personal level. Till date the only alcoholic drink i can stomach is fresh palmwine.
I love this.