Best Parodyold Poems
(for: Anita, a belle near Lagos campus)
shyly she smiles
her ever-floating smiles
wrecking the reason
out of the land;
impudence accompanies
her to all the hills –
sitting like an old goddess
of harvest & healing
she looks so calm
this angel of the city –
is she an angel of fertility
or the patron of virgins?
wisdom kicks on the faces
of old humanity;
& now she smiles away
with her heroic deeds
a queen of many misdeeds!
From scratched old scars come new wounds,turned septic by exposure to enviroments
foreign and decaying. Holding onto old bonds the path you dared to walk has now been lost
and you now dine with the same kind that at one point disgusted you,failure to rid yourself of
this tumour has now made you a part of its rotting habits and it now speaks and expects
equally from your mind. You cannot expel the thoughts of your past pleasurable sins cause it
was by your hand that they were committed and now your sitted deep in the pits of shame
that your eyes waver from the light...and on this they will all look and say "there goes the
hypocrite,foul from his own shame."
(for: Those who go by New Tarzan)
We have heard many of those lofty tales;
Of her toying with our golden rule:
Of her flying strength across the roads,
When some fawning dogs of buses come
Wagging their tails of old horns
Wagging at her smiling inmates;
When some privates come, ready
To lead her into some controversies
Through their vulgar speed of competition!
O we have heard many wild tales
Which commission more works of wages
Like sands for our road safety;
Sadly – we salute the inmates of New Tarzan,
We greet from our lonely V-Boots!
With louder and clearer voice,
Greet Confucious, the wisest
And deepest thinker of Old China,
Stood like a prophet warning mankind:
“Try to live by the golden rule!”
But we dwell by the river’s waves
Near the wonders of taste-and-cost;
Now her trumpet rouses a brother:
“Behold New Tarzan has gone up;
Yet we dwell in these far north’s hills!”
What we hear – is it true:
She is our Phoenician purple-dyed cloth,
Famed from each ancient shore to another,
That pride of all ancient kings and queens?
It is like table-talks of comfort and joy?
What we hear – is it true:
She is the first-rate story,
Novel to roads that lie in quietness,
Captious of her speed and noise?
Fast like the Athenian Pheidippides,
In the newest race for technology
She visits us from her far away horizon;
Now, what we hear – is it true:
She is a growing dogma for the roads,
Or, is it table-talks of comfort and joy?
Then – to those who go by New Tarzan,
To these joy-lipped inmates of a gome of comfort,
We greet from our lonely V-Boots!
THE GRAND OLD DUKE OF YORK
The grand old Duke of York’s fleets
Had ten thousand men
Who all had problems with public toilet seats
Again and again and again.
When they were up, they were up;
And when they were down, they were down;
And when they were only halfway up
You knew the Duke had left town.
a nest
on fire
burnt in a haste
’tis a huge fire;
the inmates shout
going helter-skelter
even the men shout
running crazy faster;
who ablaze sets
such a new house?
even the goats
in wonder bounce!
’tis this old man
who shouts & shouts
’tis that old man
who gasps & shouts!