I sat down to study the Netherlands tried to gather all the scoop
Entering every contest cause I'm new to Poetry Soup
I read all the poetry masters to grow I must surely invest
What I've discovered in almost no time is why Soup poets are the best
Zerbst wrote an anthem with some amazing poetic twist
Made me wish I was from Freisland this sprawling sealand really exist
Dr. Ram wrote a history thesis he even quotes the great Shakespeare
The Netherlands in an Italian sonnet another masterpiece was here
Cornish obviously did his homework in couplet form he holds command
Displays the heart and pride of the people when I read his words I want to stand
Andrea's the Soup contest master so you knew she'd draw her pen
With perfection her ode to Freisland, Ms. Dietrich has done it once again
I could go on with the works on Netherlands a shout out to John, Ralph, and Tim
A descriptive write by Huberta van Akkeren, these odes will make sweet Elly grin
So I learned all about the Netherlands another ode wasn't needed from me
To be proud of this majestic country... May she ever be beautiful and free!
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland
*Happy Birthday Elle!
Your buildings were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And just like that Priam's Kingdom was no more.
Your damnation was brought on by the lusts of a young man
For a young woman named Helan who was declared the fairest.
This is what brought to your land the Achaeans other wise known as the
Their soldiers,slaves, and their king,
To destory the trojans is what they did seek.
For ten long years there was blood,sweat and so many tears.
With no relief or gains,
Just more deaths and battle pains.
Untill Achilles and his shield,
Killed your bravest son Hector on the field.
The gods themselves were divided,
Ones on each side fighting,
All this for one young couples desire's
And so your buildings they were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And the life of Priam and his kingdom and sons were no more,
destroyed they were,
All for one girl.
This new born day I celebrate your souls release from guilt n’ captivity since that day you
felt a carnal touch of sin within as your hands played poetically upon the curves of your dead
lover’s silken skin…
I know now you made your way to the top of the rocks to plant a tree to guard this sacred
place where I fell from thee n’ you repeated the poetic chant of love’s abandoning to follow
me into our karmic destiny…
On that fateful day your soul bled away at the top of this crest by a solitary juvenile tree,
your body of words fell to the rocks at the base of this cliff, embroidered into the blood of
The one who would hold a feather to her face on this crest by the sea n’ remember finally
the days gone by of you n’ me, our deaths from love’s abandoning when you my love were
lost to this world n’ me for ten centuries…
I now await destiny as we will love forever more with immortal hearts…
She swept away the tired day
with purple broom that stained the sky
and the sun swept under the rug
was the sparkle in her eye
She walked on a bridge of cloud
with such glowing presence and luminescence
that it left crumbs of stars in the sky.
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes,
your face was in the morning paper;
they shot you dead like a dog,
hunted you out all day and night.
They said you'd always been a bad seed
and youths were dying because of you;
they said you're a criminal on the run
with a dirty face and shaggy head.
But I know you better than they do,
you preached love to all the people;
you fought for them, young and old,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
And now as I see you lying dead,
it seems my dreams have vanished as well;
they can call you names, any names they want,
but I know there's only one like you,
there's only one like you,
there's only one Che Guevara.
You lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
He's packin' magic Viagra
Muse infused grooves set the mood
grab ya' and stab ya'
still we speak the same language
teach and preach truth
every time I stop to see what he's droppin'
my dang pen commits sin, flips a lid
ink pours, runs down the paper like Jill Abramson did the NY TIMES
just in time verse transfers kinetic energy
activating a semantic force field
formulating symbiosis through synergy
swimming in puddles of puns
changing sans rays into rays of sun
you can hear bums humming metonym hymns from the Twin Cities to Tuscan
igniting a revolution of prostitutes and hooligans on hallucinogens to scoot
loose from futons
learn to earn and swim with loose Louis Vuitton boots on
whacked out kids from Pakistan with crack in hand hear his pen
and pack into Shaggin' Wagon vans to kick up sand and
do their dance and just hold hands
the whole globe huggin' like cousins
uncovering hovering heteronomy mysteries evading lexicographers throughout
centuries of history
he's teaching wide eyed chicks to utilize polysemy by demonstrating thermal
viscosity rates of his balls and prick
my mental lexicon is spinning
so I'm sinnin' then I'm grinnin' and grabbing inflatable girlfriends over for
dinner then dessert to be followed immediately by frenzied poetic circle jerks
I must admit the fabric of his hyperbole allegoristic-ally makes me
wanna on·o·mat·o·poe·ia in my pants and break into a hyper pole dance!
he's coordinating conjunctions
box munching at the junction
whole heartedly gets retarded with descriptive hard-ons
vast array of play-on words for you ladies to chew on
verse for verse
inch for inch
tit for tat
this and that
hot and heavy with romance
enough to make a man wear a hard hat
there inside the high rise
under construction in the pants
damn Mister (CENSORED), atta-boy!
and though I'mma boy with no vagina, boy
(you don't mind if I call you mister by design there boy?)
Man, the images your tongue twisters send
I must commend and admit
if you had a different rear end...
I might have to apprehend your ass with my ten inch night stick, oh hell, it's
just past a hard seven, but who's countin' man?
As you see poetry is a curse conjuring harmful words of demonic proportions
reading your scriptures' depictions interrogatively tells me these inscriptions
are precisely the prescription I need to erect the sword which could ultimately
lead to seismic abortions...dang...
Did I just type that?
His message to Mankind was divine love, much louder than
the desert wind hissing through the tall palm trees;
they heard Him, but sadly contempt built up when
they defiled the Temple by selling and trading instead of praying on their knees...
so Jesus got the whip and the lame and the blind cried out the word, " Hosanna! "
Christ was the faithful servant who was scourged, derided and crucified,
now, is the friend of all who believe in Him, not in a sinful world....
the Redeemer who carried the heavy cross to Calvary and died;
His resurrection was a victory over death making Him the eternal Lord!
Who besides Him is more worthy of God His Father, are we?
Anytime Jesus prayed, He finished that prayer with this holy word, " Hosanna! "
Nothing has changed...it was an unjust and mean world, and so it will be;
they lived for lust, power and money getting greedier than Judas who chose death;
find that good soul that resembles Jesus...is it that poor man who seeks mercy?
We can gather much gold, make him a crown and place it on his bruised head!
And while he sits there waiting for compassion, his feeble voice proclaims," Hosanna! "
All nations strive for supremacy, making useless and massive weapons so destructive,
they have no love for their neighbors...they hate peace and every beautiful place;
we have made it to this century...will others see a tomorrow not dark and delusive?
Pray like Jesus did and put your fate in the hands of the Almighty who's grace!
No joy or possession is greater than faith...get up, look up and shout, " Hosanna! "
Alms Inn, there is the place again, and here
I, far away, muse in the house I grew
O this village of my love, has grown too
The golden hills with lilacs filled, the sweet
Soft of morning dew, and my dusty feet
Leaving his brighter sun for school and care
Whilst he with poetic dreams filled the air
And orange blossoms buzz with fragrance fair
And O, orange blossoms buzz when
In my mind I hear his voice again.
Father, fragile though festive fold of hills
Where drought walks dissonant on dribbled dreams
Your memory abides here still, and bright streams
Of laughter where you paced or sat unveiling
History and poetry and farmed feeling
Of the world. Like a nightingale's voice spills
Through the village gate, sublime as sacred thrills
The organ dissipates, and crannies fills
With thy deep eloquence and pride
And thy wide eyed child by your side.
Regal of an African line, birth low
Amidst the Maroon bramble, up you came
Out of the German mire of blood, a flame
Carrying bushman and midwife through night
The falcon feathered for the frolic of flight
Over foreign spires, in the bright rainbow
Father, still your footsteps that path does show
Mud deep, bright towards the future we go
Athlete, scholar, tempest and mist
Man above men will foes insist
And I today churn in praise my new lines
Waking like a womb of fresh beginnings
A virgin voyage of my form, deep gleanings
Of the mind's creativity. I bring
It, tribute to you, blush before my king
For whose awesome form my love matchless pines
Seeking your worth in joys of new designs
To carve your honor on our human minds
First of our black place to unfold
Upon white space petals of gold.
This proud veterinarian, this wave
That pulse across the Caribbean's shores
This first in rank in all the shackled chores
This noble patron of the arts, this child
Of business, that upward through nights here toiled
To say I am free, stir now gloomy grave
You shall not hold him forever a slave
When jubilee comes, and our God shall save
For of all the joys that is known
He loved his God, and grace was shown
Time and us are leashed memories
With time I tell love's true stories
And so its oft, when love in fancy strays
I to Alms Inn, where my boyhood still plays
In St. Elizabeth, behind the brimmed drays
Here in white pattern of dust I reclaim
The glory of my father, all my name
For we are nothing who have no past, sir
No identity the shard soul to stir
Shorn from the traditions of father's ways.
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.
The were the three Magi with mantels and beards, traveling
on strong camels as far as Bethlehem and having
seen a wondrous star, they began their long journey
by bringing precious gifts, but they warned Joseph and Mary
of Herod's malicious intent...so they fled to Egypt
on a donkey that never complain of a sore hip!
They believed in the Savior as Herod himself full of pride,
and being very wise, they never returned
to tell him what kind of child they had found!
They brought their gifts and knelt at a child
whose fate as foretold was to die for us all,
and he gladly accepted them hearing His Father's call!
Not having heard from the Wise Men who had lied to Him,
Herod sent his soldiers to kill all children under three: screams terrorized Bethlehem;
no, they weren't moved by their mother's painful cry
and shedding their innocent blood they revenged that lie!
O mothers of Bethlehem, Jesus knew that they were slaughtered because of Him!
O mothers of Bethlehem, you wept and moaned as they bled as a sacrificial lamb!
They believed in the Savior from what they had read,
and wanted to see for themselves the glorious event that Daniel spoken of:
the brightest star shining over Bethlehem as angels sang,
announcing Christ's birth in a small town groping on a hill of citrus and clove!
Written on December 16, 2012
The year is1762 and a tale of murder or mystery they boast
A teenage girl, a drunken parish clerk and even a ghost
About hordes of aristocrats and wealthy men assembling
Crowds rivalling Covent Garden Theatres were now descending
To a house near St Paul’s on a road named Cock Lane
Although three stories high one room on each floor it had for its fame
Owned by Richard Parsons a clerk with a passion for drink
Forever in debt borrowing money, but to repay it he never did think.
He evicted poor Fanny and her partner William Kent
Even though he borrowed money from them and they could pay rent
A short time later smallpox took poor Fanny Lynns from this world
But her 'said to be' husband engraved no name, and then this story unfurled
He explained in truth that they were not wed
He didn’t want her family knowing poor Fanny was dead
She left all her goods to her partner William Kent
He didn’t want to share them not a penny not a cent
Two years later a report on Fanny hit the news
It seems Parson was Kent’s character now going to abuse
Through Parsons daughter it was said that Fanny had spoken
The ghost of Fanny Lynes with a scratching sound had awoken
From the lips of the poor deceased Fanny Lynes
The tales of murder and scratching begins
She says she died not of smallpox, but of murder most foul
And she wants her revenge and is now on the prowl
Kent denied murder he loved his Fanny so
But of the scratching of Fanny now most people did know
To the house in Cock lane the crowds rallied round
Entrepreneurs learnt how to make a quick buck, a quick pound
Selling food and drink and seats by the door
As Fanny was said to tell of her murder and more
But it seems there may have been trickery and lies from Parsons not Kent
As it was to his daughter Elizabeth that Fanny’s messages were sent.
Parsons was found guilty of lies, a fine he was ordered to pay
As he did not pay to jail he went and spent there many a day
The case against Kent dropped and Fanny’s ghost did now sleep
But years later maybe her revenge she finally did reap
As the years passed more investigations were made
Her coffin was dug up and her body displayed
On poor scratching fanny of Cock lane it was observed
No smallpox was found but her face was preserved
Was it then arsenic that killed poor Fanny after all?
Whatever the truth in the house of three stories tall
No one knows now as the grave held no engraved name
But still there exists the tale of Scratching Fanny in Cock Lane.
© GG 30/1/2014
the land was valued at $240, where they built "the little church on the hill"
established by a group of abolitionists and free blacks for they knew that was God's will
they named it Berean Baptist and its congregation was integrated
but after only a short time the membership separated
the church continued to prosper for the members were godly inspired
they would not let anything keep them down not even those two fires
the congregation would continue to rebuild for their faith could not be pricked
they got smart and moved two blocks over and erect a church made out of bricks
it was a little chapel yet membership would continue on the up swing
the church needed more room, so they then added on two wings
from Dr. Brown to Drs. Matthews, Eldridge and the Rev. Dr. James
anointed men of God who helped Berean establish a good name
from Rev. Roman and now Dr. Griffith with their powerful evangelistic ministries
and after 157 years Berean is a great church with a lasting and living legacy
and with the Lord's continued blessings, His mercy and His grace
The Historic Berean Baptist Church will always be the place
where anyone and everyone can come to get godly inspiration
for Berean is the church that will set on the path to salvation
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
The Christian Irish loudly sang,
taking their chant to all Ireland...
and that made Milchu very sick!
In his veins ran pure blood of Roman nobility;
at that brutal era, Druidism was Ireland's religion,
and he, the follower of Christ, felt much contention...
but armed with determination Patrick fought it fiercely!
" Hail to courageous Patrick!"
As a saint he never accepted defeat;
he was bread and water for the weak...
endless fear for the High Priest!
" Pagans, you shall not worship neither the Sun
nor idols, Christ is your true Lord! "
He preached in all villages ignoring any frown
from that warrior waving his sword!
Would he had never been captured
and sold into slavery, all Ireland wouldn't have known liberty;
his task was to tend sheep as David,
but choose to give his entire soul to God to wipe out idolatry!
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
Every man, woman and child shouted without being afraid;
they knew that God had sent this holy and kind man to them
to teach prayers of fervent faith!
When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut wrenching art--
Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands
explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart
To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands
mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores.
Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand
before the stone made man. Walking through the door,
drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze
imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more
of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days
yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade
but haunt delightedly. What manner is there to praise
the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played
reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years,
Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed
suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears
David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong--
beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears.
Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong.
Perhaps it is the reason Heavens blessed the world with Art
which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs--
Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
John Jack Kennedy
was as brilliant as could be
A studied Harvard graduate
A navy hero of the sea
He was from Massachusetts
A lover of the dunes
and used to walk beside them
on summer afternoons
He was a much loved President
His spoken word was magic
I never did understand why
his ending was so tragic
I can remember him so clear
but time flies quickly by
I remember Jackie's pill box hat
John-John and Caroline
It is a shame that violence
brought his colorful life to end
the Kennedys' profiles in courage
were an absolute Godsend
There is so much happiness
around JFK's short term
His fun sense of humor
A smart, well read bookworm
We all will never forget him
Those of us who loved him so
The articulate, animated speeches
The radiant look he'd always showr
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.
Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.
Red, Green, Yellow
Once a year ower the Cumberland show,
Livestock, ter an' fro, ter an' fro.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Gypsies, jockeys, towns’ folk alike,
Appleby 'orse-fair awwer the dyke.
Red, Green, Yellow
Scotland has i's 'aggis, Lancashire i's ho' pot,
We 'ave uz sausage an' tha' does uz lo'.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Ice-cream a' Allonby shiftin' ter Silloth on sea,
Righ' round Wes' Cumbria an' back yam fur scordy, like eh.
Red, Green, Yellow
Up a' five an' ou' a' dawn,
The 'aaf-ne' fishers, early morn, like eh.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Keswick, Caldbeck an' Seascale too,
All the visitors passin' through.
Red, Green, Yellow
There’s Por' Carlisle on the warl,
People comin' yan an' all.
Yan, Tan, Tether
Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.
No raised pinnacle marked the place
No pure white limestone shining
Where Ramesses slept looked commonplace
to foil the robbers scrying.
Yet he had moved the earth and sky
this pharaoh disdained all rivals.
His bounty buried beneath the sand
portrayed a life beneath blue skies
his star encrusted tomb ethereal
his Ka rising from Death’s hand.
The hills of Thebes his place of rest
and beneath him his father lay
amongst the great he’d be the highest
his battle standards on display.
He ruled with iron hand on staff
as a Godhead he was portrayed.
Most mighty and acclaimed, no man
was he, who felled the Hittite chaff;
beneath his chariots wheels flayed
the denizens of Egypt’s land.
Worshiped was he in temples true
his semblance graces Abu Simbel
with eyes wide o’er lake so blue
his gaze belays the infidels.
Beside him she, Nefertari
laid claim to a sacred place
held above all others his wife
most renowned for her beauty
a love to last through time and space
may all true hearts pay such tariff.
With all the world waiting, we turned our eyes skyward.
Remember that day when we all looked through
Our electric windows on the universe,
Seeing old spheres from a new point of view?
Three times again, and again, and again,
Descending on dancing flames,
They scurried, slow-motion, through ancient dust
Who still now remembers their names?
They did the unthinkable, achieved the impossible,
Went where none had preceded, and more.
"Ho-hum! ...another launch, you say?
Is football on Channel Four?"
Mechanical colonists left behind
When we blasted back home in our ships
Drew life in their bellies from shattering atoms,
Energizing electronic chips.
They sensed the heat of ancient fires,
Moon-embers, banked deep inside.
They felt the star-bits streaming,
And the rumbling silent tide.
ALSEP voices, talking to Earth
In chattering bits and bytes
Sent their colonial treasures back
Through the lunar days and nights.
They measured the limb-shocked solar winds,
Changing the charges in sputtered lands,
And vibrating signals crossed the void,
Twitching inked fingers on metal hands.
The footprints and tire-tracks, unchanging, remain.
Like paths to the future, they glisten.
Solipsistic sentinals converse with themselves,
But there's nobody left who can listen.
George Hastings October 1, 1977
A soliloquy comes over me as a testament to this great rock.
The names and dates and markings from generations ago unlock,
those that past this way on foot and ox and horse,
and those that never made it here; to chisel and endorse.
Silent now are the graves that sit beside this place,
and the thousands that pass by and give respect to unknown names.
A rot-iron fence sit's where some say they lay
the children that may have died here; is also where they played.
Stone scratched history, tar and paint,
the rolling Sweetwater accentuates,
this giant rock where thousands now have trod,
left with only the name,
of Independence Rock.
The giant of the east, a thorn in the most prosperous continent
possessing land so massive which is second to none
having each day measured in nine different scales
and twelve large waters in full interaction with its borders
Its pride feeds on most of European and global superlatives
is it from the stores of fresh water
or the preservation of the wild plant communities?
Is it its rich deposits piled beneath the Earth
or its sized capital of huge significance to Europe?
This historic nation prides in them all and even more
But then, the limbs of its diplomacy are incomplete
in such regard, important allies are difficult to come by
no room for adjustments- it must be what it wants
Georgia and Ukraine’s tears then becoming the pay
for its domineering spirit
Though not adequately reverenced by the inhabitants of the jungle
a hippo still remains more dangerous than the lion
well ranked among the frontiers of global authority
but a major 21st century bully even in this time of civilization
Desire filled his face,
it lingered like perfumeof love,there was no trace
Passion welled within,
deceit fuelled by need-
this fire turned to sin
Lust failed to satisfy,
though power reigned supreme-
their child,stlll was to die
full story @2sam 11/12
our children dacing
dacing at the sight of lighted bulbs
like when the eclipse occured
but their hope dashed
but his wealth is intact
for his greatest grand children
children that are more equal
more equal than the others
our mouths now salivates
on seeing mere nuts
like dogs for bones
bones of our lost sons
sons last seen on april
april of the pools
pools of ballots
ballots of inec
our stomach now speak
speak like the dogs
dogs that came beyond the sea
but they have learnt
learnt to look
look since their demands were not meet
our youths now play in moonlight
play games in the sand
games out of fustration
fustration due to lack of job
our graduates now employed
employed in barrow pushing company plc
with first class honours
obtained from war front
our universities now battle fields
our wards soliders
only to come home
with paper to prove it
all their hopes in it
in the designed paper
paper that cannot feed
even the fetus in the woman
they made him believe them
them that are beyond the sea
that his wealths are safe
though they beautify their land with it
he knew not that the value of
his wealth has been used
used to tare their roads
used to build schools
used to build hospitals
used to make things better
used to empower their people
used to make them what they claim
those beyond the sea
though his wealth are safe
it have generated hundred times
to say the least, its worth
he claims to be rich,
the cock that crew
the dogs that bark
the cricket that creaks
the youths that riots
the children that cries
all are saying in Unison
wake up and behave
like a black though are
for our blood flows in you
let them know that we have an origin
our origin so strong
our strenght so wisely use
our wisdom cannot be decieved
wake up and take from them
the wealth they took from us
wake up and suprise them
and make our homes the dream land
the dream land of our fathers
those that fought till sleep came
and those that still wait for sleep to emerge
wake up and let them know
that our wealth we can manage
to make our homes eden
the eden our fathers lived in
For our tribes are stong
as strong as the lion
the lion accros the equator
our home the heart of Africa
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.
The nation is thrown into grief.
Our national flag is flying at half mast.
Everyone is wearing a sack cloth.
The dangling axe fell on us.
And the mighty has fallen.
Our hearts are filled with dread,
And our eyes as heavy as lead.
Nigeria, Africa’s number one soccer nation,
Has been given a run for their money by the Ghanaians.
Culminating our early exit from the African nations cup.
The green and white jersey that we adore,
Have been dragged in the mud.
These are not the Eagles we have been celebrating.
Or are these Eagles suffering from bird flu,
That they cannot glide.
Their spirit was willing but their flesh were weak.
When we were young, we were strong,
Now we’ve grown but we are weak.
The reputation that took us years to build,
Have been destroyed over night.
Because we went to fetch water with a basket.
The baby has been thrown away with the baby water.
The Midas touch we used to have have been used on us,
Because we could not strike while the iron was hot.
The hunter has been hunted.
And we have fallen from frying pan to fire.
Football has kept us together as a nation for many years.
The Ghanaians has put a knife on what kept us together.
And we have fallen apart.
Once beaten, twice shy.
We hide our faces in shame.
No one is to be blamed.
What is sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.
Every dog has its own day and it was not our day.
A soldier lives to fight another day.
And never says never because quitters are losers.
The big question is,
Shall our bones rise again?
Or have we withered like the cursed fig tree.
Only the bowel of time will Tell.
He was renowned for farming
ploughing lands as large as atlantic
but his harvests he keeps beyond the sea
beyond the sea all he got
Down here, his roof leaks
his town roads untared
they make use of his wealth
to paint their town more white
he thinks his wealth is safe
but the value they use
promising him security and secrecy
to shut their mouth from his people
his pots occupied
by cockroach and rats
as had been aboandoned by his wife
his children grow everyday
developing big belly and head
He goes back to use ibeleju as lamp
but he claims to be rich
his children goes fishing to pay their fees
the school fees he has refused to pay
they built a school for their wards
and beg them to look inside papers
nobody pays a penny
those are the people beyond the sea
his wealth is intact
but had been used
times without number for their anuual budget
they beyond the seas
Worms leak his intestine
and his offsprings from six to two
he took their looks to the people
the people beyond the sea
they gave him a name "Malaria"
Malaria took them all
contented he came
carring no less for his kwashiokor wards
His bicycle like buried iron
yet he appears before his kinsmen
to speak in language that tingles
they smirk at him
though the gods let him live
his expliots and wealth
managed and utilized by the people
the people beyond the sea
he claims to be learned
while they have brain washed him
he trusted them
and left our heritage
the gods forbide
our black heritage
that our fathers died to protect
like our brotherly love
that forbade greed
he forgot our maxim
that of Unison
him that our fathers gave the "Ofor"
the Ofor that represents power
power to protect our interest
our black interest
the gods bear us witness
witness of our unquenched suffering
starving in front of plenty
plenty at the so called bank
banks beyond the sea banks
the name for their civilised theft
theft because they use the value
the value of your wealth
to reinforce themselve
the Ofor has fallen
from his hands
the gods has departed from him
but he will not believe
our chambers now lagoons
lagoons from the light shawers
our tables now canoes
and soup spoons paddle
mosquitoes now our pets
nursing our children
our working age amended
starting from 6 to sleep
our heads now bald
not from age
but from fetching water
water from the eden
You regret your foolish disclosure, as you confessed to be a cold hearted lover for she was
lost of hope n’ sacrificed herself from this crest for her love for you consumed her totally,
though her broken heart, in the care of the angels choir, now sings reforged in the fires of
You lived your life in the garments of a scar around your heart, covered in bark, thrombosed
to the love of another, it now cries in virtue n’ chastity from the sentient tree that consumed
your ashes n’ dust in the grave at the top of the crest by the sea…
I give to you Poet my blessing, so you can relinquish your guilt n’ pain of love’s abandoning
from the bed of blame you made of your grave, for your quill is at peace till your
homecoming into this world, my sweet poet come back to me…
For time was your crest from this day you have leapt, you are forgiven my love so rise, let
go your purgatory n’ perhaps one day we will meet once again as your soul escapes the
gravity of captivity, now owlish n’ wise let it fly to our destiny…
Though not a word is spoken in these moments of conjuration from a lover long gone in an
age of castles n’ quests by the sea, it stormed all night n’ I remained by your grave side till
sunrise n’ the flame in your eyes became the Immortal’s fire to reforge a tarnished heart,
for your tortured soul now understands n’ through the flames your mind will follow…
Now I see the picture you have painted in the illusion of the rainbow n’ I sense the birth of
humility n’ grace as the sun breaks through the storm clouds, for your poem of remorse
finally rests n’ you my love are reborn with angel wings to ride mother earth’s breath…
On a windswept hill crest by the sea there is a lonely ancient sentient tree that seems so
figuratively familiar to me, I wonder why this can be n’ who my heart longs for when
I’m here n’ why love gives no guarantee…
Though I visit here frequently, today I was summoned, beckoned by the branches of this
solitary tree swaying in the breeze, to this charming yet purgatorial space...
I knelt down upon this strange magical place n' was carried away as my fingers traced an
owl’s feather to my face n’ wondered why I loved n’ despised this fateful place…
My body shivered, internally tingling n’ with grace, some kind of enlightened knowing I could
not erase n' like the sentient tree that cradles you within, I sensed your ethereal embrace…
Silence ends where you begin, I heard the likes of Aeolian sing “Oh my Immortal” n’ your
poetic voice disturbed the chaos in the winds of my mind n’ there within returned the
memory of your handsome androgynous face…
I said… “Come let my hands play upon your skin” n with my thoughts gathering to replay a
scene across time of broken hearts n’ love’s abandoning reflected in the fire of your eyes n’
a touch of a feather upon my face…
I’ll never know your name or how many tears were cried in the oceanic depths of your
pleasure n’ pain, though the salt I can taste in the tempest of this darkening day as the wind
heralds your scent n’ presence unto me…
I’ll never know all who walked hand in hand here before me or where each discarded shell
has been as the seasons flew away, yet I now know why a thousand Halloweens were your
destiny n’ you summoned me to transcend my mortality n’ the meaning of silent words at
play this day…
Our ancient bodies lay together here beyond mortal touch, though in my present existence I
no longer recall our names, they are lost in my many lifetimes yet kept in the Goddess’s
Though no longer you feel my touch or pleasure n’ pain I'll plant a flower as a blessing on
top of our grave, above the waves, where your soul is a slave to this sentient tree cradling
your ashes n’ bones returned to dust…
What religion has created through the ages
is a false gospel with much incredibility;
a helpless Christ on that cross...
instead of a resurrected One
ascending to His glory;
He's still mocked and alone!
Faith is stronger than religion,
it trascends all souls
in search of truth and hope;
and it can't be taught by words alone!
Faith was the stronghold
of prophets and saints!
Let it become our fortress
in the days of weakness,
and fervently pray with confidence
that no harm will come from others!
The sacrificial altar needs no lamb,
the ultimate sacrifice was made...
the reconciliation between Man and God,
and a Mediator to atone every sin committed;
many still believe in a harsh punishment...
by demons who dwell in Hell!
Let's be like David who exalted Jehova God always,
and proclaimed His greatness for all ages!
Let's fear no man, but trust in the God of Moses...
who parts our waters in troubled times,
and lets us walk safely to our shore;
let's be as faithful as they were!
There is nothing like one’s home –
A haven which flows with milk and honey,
A home built by hands from holy heaven
Which we bought not with money
But with obedience which was no burden.
We have become strangers in a foreign land
Because of our sin and perversion.
Give us a second chance in that lovely land
To create, O Creator, the first impression.
Just a glimpse of home would make us less forlorn.
O Albatross, lead us to the East
From where we were hauled to this lawn
Where even red wine and bread made with yeast
Make our hearts sad, yes, forlorn.