Family, the enemy of our souls wants us to believe
The lie that we are alone
He wants us to believe
That we are treading hopeless road
But the cloud witnesses who urge us on
Tell us another story
The road we tread with light and beauty and fellowship
My friends, we are never alone
Life Of The Imagination
Imagination has never had a bath or shower
It does not know of soap
Plays with itself for hours
Hanging from a rope
Hopes for handouts
There are no places it can’t go
In dirty crevasses in dark shadows
It takes chances with glass and wire
Wine becomes expired in its mind
Meandering with tigers, gliding off of stars, where parsecs spark
Falls back into dark matter of inner space
Imagination visits here on Earth for merely seconds
Swings out to a nova blast without its nova cane
And again comes here to the home planet to drink square particles of rain
It named its first 10 children candy
None of them were sweet
The next 10 he called Mortimer
Bought them homes by buffer zones near Kansas
On Christmas it lays Easter eggs on pine needles
Pine trees are used as tooth picks in all seasons
At Thanksgiving it pitches forks
Imagination has no fear of anything accept divorce
It writes the laws in crayon while dancing through the canyons
There are fleeting moments that can never pass beyond its grasp
There are things in space and time that even chance can’t handle
Sometimes Imagination takes me places
I really don’t want to go, without my sandals on
He is my friend but wakes me up at midnight
Places pen and paper in my hand and makes me work
While he just sits there counting sheep and eating candy
Remembering they were his children
None of them were sweet
I wish sometimes imagination would fall right off the Earth
After all, he’s the one who calls it flat
For what that’s worth
The Nature of Success.
On an old tank ship that was so slow it felt as
we were suspended in time, a world shrunk
only us the ocean and the rhythmic hear beat
of the engine… and when the ship birthed, at
some god forsaken refinery, we felt overcome
by shyness seeing so many strange faces.
It was on a ship like this I met the third officer
a young man with literary ambitions, and he
succeeded on Norway´s modest literary tree.
Often interviewed, asked awkward questions
about writing and why he writes like it should
be a hidden formula.
I´m glad for his triumph, yet there is a sting in
my heart, not of rancor, but of sadness…never
having received the clarion call of acceptance.
Collections after collections have been rejected.
I feel as I have been suspended in a fool´s time,
only the sea and me and the shore is far away.
To pick-up and to receive
In the Anointment
A moment of the
By His goodness
And by His grace
A second with
> GOD <
Ties' a wonder thing
For which we long await...
A dream' come true..
For Me and You
A blessing from the Lord
A gift from all time'
To dwell with-in His favor
Beyond the Most Holy
The most Divine
To fellowship with GOD
The recoveries' of the BLESSINGS'
That He should bring
The mere Act of His touch
That is not a breech of Reality
But, a COVENANT that which
We need so much
To be in touch with Jesus
And to Thee, to be, Amen
< oh ode old ode please come to me
illuminate frowned smiles
rejuvenate twinkle in eye
your task steady fast my old ode
your victory renowned thus crowned
soothing as childs teething bisquit
your demeanor captivating
Within the stand where armies hide
with little but sticks and stones
come forces too large to abide
who’ve traveled far from home.
Armed to the teeth with planes and tanks
they’re here to garner wealth
for when the rebels meet their end
they’ll be little need for thanks
and certainly none for stealth
and little left but corpses to attend.
Civil war bring the vultures out in men
the mercenaries who fight for gold
the corporate war mongers rush to attend
The starving do as they’re told
for why not fight for mother land
and die for those left behind
a bullets death is easier than wasting
and is what man’s honor demands
If only, if only, man was less unkind
less prone too warring and debasing.
From a three-sided angle
Astrological purpose is unmangled
Triangle on top
Square on the bottom
Bright halo around God
Our tears fill His bottle
A Pyramid is a monument to death
A Tabernacle of wealth
Which comes into effect
When there's no longer breath
Is it mourning or celebration in stealth
The place where Kings and Queens lay
Buried on a sun-disk
Dedicated to Day
The final form to decay
Hands form this shape
When they're positioned to pray.
There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around
In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said
Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.
Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.
So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.
Coffee in a cup, makes a cup of coffee;
just as an aroma from within, makes the air,
smell of flowers in the spring
...a sweet thing, like sugar cane is to the tasting,
and the tasting is to stirring the dream,
making flavored coffee
a drink in the morning.
Such heavy artillery,
To whom shall we run,
To God have we come,
In pain and sad form,
To state our hearts' deform,
To stake our rights and reforms,
You know that where two Elephants fight the grass suffers,Do be well informed,
My youngmen you have been, deeply misinformed,
My insane Leaders and their wanting to negotiate a arms surrender,
Mines! Please do deactivate those heating "Death crumbs",
See the most hit at war having mucored loafs in luxury and style,
Locale Warlords feasting on roasted swine,Marijuana's wisdom and four gallons
Only the rich and mighty are are afforded the luxury of flying their families abroad,
We see vivid pictures of crime and business working in consortium,
Drugs and Arms circulation,
Or shooting the innocents,Genocide!
The world powers sidewatching as if they lack 'Parties' to side,
or on which peace steps to decide,
Please my Brothers-in-arm let's put hate aside,
Or on what "PEACE" plans to carryout from the inside,
Histories that co-incide.
Come! Peace and at this market-square shame war,
Peace do come and defy war,
The gory memory of steaming blood on his matchete,
Or my deafened eardrums beaten soft by these insultive BOMBS.
In war man's dearest friends are Sickness,Starvation and Illiteracy,
Learning the precious ways of The Ants,Bugs,Monkeys and electric fish,
Ladies and how they learnt their lesson in prostitution,
Beer bottles or bullets sealing the evidences,
My ink,My quail, and this page,
Cant tell, If in your age this will be read off Golden scrolls on diamond podiums,
Writing not for this time but for generations yet unborn,
Read the annals of history and learn that all who started a war or abetted
one,Worship and Kiss the devil in the anus,
Or they are Madmen-in-coats-and-Briefcases, Smoking piped marijuana in the
Do you think I loved to kiss the red lips of rage,
Or suck the succulent bossom of 'Hate the Mother-adder',
War sets the bait,
Guerillas set the pace,
Government gorillas hold the day,
Youths and guns,
Maids and nails,
Only the dead can see the end of war,
Not only deep breath can still the tremors of bombs,
Or greed the might of crumbs,
May God's almighty blessings be bestowed on Relief,Aid,Donor and Charity
Agencies that stand the risks of war and its deaths.
Wars are a confirmation of a Civilization in Rust.
I know of a man. A man full of gratitude and humility for all he is and all he has
He has an eternal fault: an obsession to make a difference; to make an impact
To sow where he care not to reap
And give where, he does not get back
To solve a problem not of his making
Standing as beacon of hope in the face of upmost despair
And flow freely like an oasis in the silent desert
Shining like a million stars in the steep darkness
I know of the young-man who
Drank richly of some foreigners’ fount of knowledge
Years ago, way back at an ancient city of the Yorubas
An unsure future was secured, se t on path of greatness
Filled with such wholesome inspiration
He caught a glimpse of tomorrow vision
And before him was set a life mission
Which he pursued with uncommon passion
To start a national social redemption
He with other berthed the ship of change and silent revolution
In business as in charity
At a Lagos unusual port, in Surulere, at Obele community
He with some inspired men and women with pen and white chalk
Walked rather than talk the talk
Breaking the jinx of decades of failure and annual underachievement
Setting loose and dreaming
Another generation of Nigerian graduates
Inspiring many to take up arms of service, destroying
reign of woes of secondary education among the tomorrow leaders
Selflessly in the spirit of giving back
That success baton once received a generation earlier
Now with duty being passed to the future runners
To stop the wanton waste
Of the so called wasted generation
Enlivening J. F. Kennedy age long mantra
‘Not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for her’
If the Americans has Peace Corps reaching the corners of the world
The man and co. decided
Nigerians can have Volunteers Corps reaching the end of Africa
Imbued with the power of one, driven by a unity of one team
Volunteer Corps was brought forth to life
By men and women, grandly inspired
Ahead of the pack, dangling the magic wand of change
With deftly touch and humblest of heart
Is the man called Ademola Aladekomo
He is a volunteer; A volunteer of volunteers.
She's constantly a dreamer,
Fantasy is where she lives,
Reality is non existant to her,
If only she could see.
She only cares about superficial things,
Popularity is her sport,
Boyfriends are the cheerleaders,
If only she could see.
Her mind is put to waste,
A head as empty as a flower pot,
Education is lost on her,
If only she could see.
She makes fun of the "weirdos",
She cannot stand the "geeks",
But those "geeks" are worth knowing,
If only she could see.
The world is 3-D,
It has depth underneath,
There is beauty under the surface,
If only she could see.
Beauty is not just skin deep,
It runss all the way through,
It's not just looks that matter,
It's how you think and see.
To the one too good
For those who would
Thanks for helping me
in programming class
Plastered posters up on dividers
laminated and preserved for generations
of students, marching by filing
nameless the years, uncounted
Crazy physicist! So, you can
put a man on the moon?
Ooh! I have a new problem!
Calculate the trajectory of my soul
as it leaves my body!
This day shall be in remembrance of all the lost souls.
Each one remembered proudly on every flag pole.
This day shall be in remembrance to the fire fighters and all the crews.
Who rushed in giving up their lives, knowing what they knew.
This day shall be in remembrance to each soldier who followed their course.
The Army, Navy, Marines and the Airforce.
This day shall be in remembrance to all the brave and willing strangers.
Who came together to help and comfort, not knowing the dangers.
This day shall be in remembrance to the brave policemen and women.
Who came and worked side by side with with other laymen.
This year shall be in remembrance to all the who gave to the oppressed laden with hardship.
Whether it be a stranger or simply a friendship.
This date shall be forever etched in our hearts and in history.
Let freedom reign, the eagle will soar with such gallantry.
In reverence of 9/11, I kneel to pray...
As I write this, each tear falling don't come close to all who was lost that day.
Each year passing, shall be in remembrance to the brave red, white and blue.
That we came back stronger, braver and always renewed.
Upon the emptied blackboards
chalkdust yet remains,
smeared, the work of a
thousand problems, minds behind each,
even the blue message of a
young lady waving goodbye.
In the corner the voicebox of God
lies silent except at 10:10 every morning
the pledge, the announcements, the moment
of silence, now his muted mouth
frowning silent disapproval.
What does He know of mortal strife?