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my dad, Richard Howard Hilton
The meaning of life has something to do with seven, I thought for a while. For weeks I studied phone numbers, and soon I dropped the idea after realizing a boy down the street had more sevens in his cell phone number than all the pastor’s numbers I had fed on to justify my hunch. The idea of the number seven charged up with life more than any other was influenced by very popular references, I guess it’s what being a new stoner could do to anyone. But I live in a little community of very few people, a census would peg the headcount no more than a thousand, meaning, I was doing very little socializing. I finally found a beautiful seven to hold on to, just before leaving Dubai city. And now I pass the belt to my dad, Richard Howard Hilton, he is the one who's paid all my debts, from Dubai to Singapore and Puerto Rico, no one says I owe them. I dedicate this to all the adventures you've set me on right from your @rickhilton7 Instagram account.
It was time to leave the country, I wasn’t getting the fees for the education I had gone over to enrol for sent to me. I had my flight ticket, and very little money to get to the airport. I was assured by my host in the city of Sharjah that the sum would help me down. But soon in the taxi, watching the meter, I was stumped on how much the bill read about half a minute from the pickup point. The highway was lonely, and the streets so bright, were scary. Waiting for a while after my call to halt from the ridiculousness I was encountering, I told him to continue, the bill climbed up anyway in the wait and I went ferreting my backpack for the loose change I had in there.
Arriving at the busy airport in Dubai brought panics as I had no idea what I’d do, the cabs paused, and occupants went on their way, all these in a max of sixty seconds, even heavy travellers had the streak, it was bad, I learned this from my arrival, but I’d been thrown into a position of feeling sorry for cheating this man off his remuneration. It obviously had to match with the billing display, what I was to tender, but I was seven Dirham of the journey’s charge short. It stunk as I got off, in the bright lights of the city's airport, the feeling that remained was of luck, I felt lucky, more than I had ever thought possible.
19th of September, 2019 I arrived in Lagos in the morning, the same day as my grandad’s passing, William Barron Hilton. His passing had brought only good luck, and to tell how lucky I still feel, I dedicate this collection to my dad, now knowledgeable that time’s passing springs meaning in every action, old and new, as it further gives life to events, also, to every good act done. I am lucky to have an awesome driver in life. Dad says to chase the bunny, as I’d be surprised to know my grandad was quite present with me and spoke to me a lot before his passing. That truly wonderful world.
I .
Dad, she’s a rose
in hank knit pose
a petrifying dote
do see her photos
her vicious hold
will bring me home.
He let her
take him away.
She’s better
from her sail.
Being together
it isn’t the same.
Too, I’d gather
from how it aches.
The three things
one is giving
other is within
this is everything.
Hardly do I cover up
shucks
my innards ruck
I long your touch
I haven’t much
these words
very few in blur
isn’t it the soil
your ego crossed
doggone
all feels lost
without a picture.
I itch with a stick
since it’s sweet
sweet adjectives
long in pedigree
who else visits
elation in grief
as with terrorists
dead, incinerating.
She is a lubber if she cannot work it
holing up could be her favourite thing
favourite to be spelled to ingratiating
but she asks for the patience of myths
so the legend of no Instagram stories
I present to you all, gents, and ladies
though I have hiccough and an inkling
it is of whom it has been; her narrative.
Moments lapping over my thoughts
with no obvious take on any course
had my spirit sat in pother comfort
as if stuck in a brain shaped fusiform
an arrival, an idea, the couple’s jaunt
the rescue; first girl from your legion
pepping me up around by the clock
I met you in the crucible of our hum
this hum with no bystander duration
time here has filled up the billabong
long rainy days waiting for avizandum
but it could be my nature has evolved
seven days come, knowing it’ll rain more.
Handicapped fellows
in the sailors’ burrow
a stowaway’s sorrow.
A shelduck
a lonely path to the seldom
an orange orchard’s groove
a manorial pond.
So alarmed to fugue
for a one time whoop
dad it’s growing huge
seventh chasing deluge
the sixth from the blue
dad, cheers to the truth.
Due to the recent events
it’s been quite hard to tell
the camp is heavy on hell
everyone curses and yells
the air wears tidy contempt
the decrepit truth coalesced
they speak of what you lent
bandied around is why I wept.
Am I not crying for the fathom
with tears early as the autumn
weakening the gauntlet’s mull
from erasing no entry in datum
a sojourn of not an intimation
what is left is this infirm vision
the horizon, clouds recidivous
choppy waters so mischievous.
Half seated before attempt
my garnished address
has a twist by its palate
even resuming as talentless.
Lacking a mention
or an assuaging hock
belabouring you knock
long to tee-hee-hee dock
our man and wife troth luck
a mañana travesty you return
the sun rises, sets, dawn to dusk
I’m a husband manqué lost in his foils.
This day I’m pondering the majestic
floored at the strait of the authentic
paraffin or gasoline, I’ve got the wick
it is not the flapping doing the magic
every instance, it isn’t owning the tick
this air helps me burn, too, scary flick
this commingling is playing an ol’ trick
hopping is not walking, sing for speak
hue of the dye, wax melted on a batik
confusing cause of effect is the pick
two tales starring in an emotional nick.
The wind chill is ornate
the upset has complaints
shrouded in bagatelle language
as poetry is obvert, never shales.
No mess is made
when you're baked
you're like some ale
oh everyone is okay
for a bite, they'd wait
you're yum-yum lake
to dive in any D-day
no mess, clean slate
a counter of palisade
soft on lips as duvet
pungent like migraine
gone, leaving no stain
mwa, you are my bail
the cooling space
of course, I'll wait
wish list to package
I'm hungry for dates
1989, when is the wake
mine, I'm way too slain
the roach, the afraid
be the swat, my claim
... heaven her way.
Leafing through pages
living through wages
he stumbled, paid
she who swayed.
It was deafening sentence
on a par with what not to expect
the brigade of their death
arriving with a pack of cigarettes
his skin shiny, but modest
asking for nothing, only my best.
Everyone picks up words
words yet to be illustrious
coinings opening new doors
monsoons engaging new pours
antenna, the best of the new ones
favourite for weeks, I wouldn’t budge
if I only I had a pair to catch the ominous
in hindsight, it was to be free that bedaubed
to sense my little world, accurately paint pictures.
Contraptions signed petitions
in hiding, we penned gawked
amazed at their signatures
muffled, everyone bawled
I’ve begun a distribution
of poetry, not of guns
a kerb after a kerb.
He’s saying he met you
not without lots to undo
high stereotype hurdles
that body, ass construe
he’s never been the fool
as fooled as you choose
swathe in fervent bristle
it’s half, no dud in fruits
the gaffe in obfuscation.
Remaining as still and quiet
blissful as those sight's rest
on the other side of tenets
a place of little sum patience
where the heavy gets assent
its hour where it is tempest.
Evening time in the herd
with my head unearth
a thing stirred
and I heard.
A mail arrived from yonder
of our infractions apart
insuperable it yaks
I have the map
sleuth’s plan
be calm.
A birthday wants memories
they are like the hairpins
so I’ve offered poetry
oft mishmash yucky
honking dungaree
as I am wearing
go numbering
increasing.
I hear voices
especially
when sleepy
detesting
any phallic
breathing
feminine
the soothing
chit chatting
not minding
bantering
sell me
the melody.
Can you dance with your sister
the slow dance of a getaway
dratted from mindless arms
… seeing that dirty maim
I could love that part
oh I’ve had no day
yes it’s a ritual.
By comely contrivance
set besides the passage
doorway too in traverse
came a man, all he’s cast
for a location, by a date
he’d no need for a gaffer
sixty, three-sixty arcane
but of the paraphernalia
shake off, an idea shake.
This collection rests on the shoulders of everyone who inspired me during the writing process. Thank you to Carmella Rose, Mariam Rod, Richard Hilton, Taylor Swift, Wolfie Cindy, Kendall Jenner, Jessica Andrea, Leonor, Princess of Asturias, Nicky Hilton, and Addison Rae.
