Best Satireold Poems
Whither those songs of patriotism
Of which they so freely spoke?
They new-breeds have been fully clad
In old and worn-out costumes
The rickety customs are on the thrive!
Surely we are in a new heaven:
There many things must be amiss,
The old chant-songs of undue death,
Of rigorous riggers and their thugs,
Of vagabonds, vandals and more!
Where are the voters?
Those sands of men whose presence
Have been acknowledged in today’s books?
Voters indeed: they were there!
Isn’t today like former days?
day after day
he came here
his mournful tale to tell
upon an old torn suit
he was in the world
unlucky was the lot
so said he
old coal mourner
digging out
was his revered job
upon the treasury land
from dawn to dusk
digging for nice one
the revered old lord
so said father
upon enugu coal city
now that the tunnels
are deeper than abyss
o, from the death-traps!
thither he had fled
Clad in his double-breasted royal toga
Filled of nothing but pride and anger
His face as grim as a Pallbearer’s
His gaze dreadful and fearful like that of
A raging rattlesnake about to strike
His eyes crackling charcoal fire-red
His dancing tummy under his “Agbada”
Reminds me of a dancing Porcupine
He paces round his palace
A house built on a Rock in the Niger-Area
He fumes and puffs like a spitting Cobra . . .
“My eyes of pity had gone blinded
Only those of nakedness built on wickedness
Shone in my vibrating Golgotha
Let no man speak of hunger with anger
For I find people not scavenging on the garbage
Let no one talk of thirst in a haste
For our River Niger is like that of River Marah
It brings only taste of grouchiness and sullenness
Let men in the Niger-Area speak not of hoarding of food
For Farming is the only way to more days of famine
Speak not of hike in the Oil from our ground
For its very dear in the other neighbouring lands
Rejoice my people for the benevolence have shown you
I shall rule and rule forever till there are people to rule no more”
Our King is indeed insane for sanity left him long ago
A vivaciously looking Chimpanzee in the Niger-Area Forest
A chirpy Chimera of the Black Race, unto him I bow piously
I have impatiently listened to his drunken fits of eloquence
My king smells like a gouard of wine full of petulance
As I bore the sting of his unrivaled drunken ribaldry
I weep for a King who is as old as Methuselah
I wonder whether he had ever smell childhood
For he looks as if he had always been old from
The very scaring day he was let out of his Mother’s womb
His Majesty old and worn out like a dry hell
Let him run into the Market with nakedness on his head
Let our people beat and stone insanity out of him
Let the people in the Niger- Area Arise and thread
Like the Strong and the Mighty with history of Victory
And arrest our oppressors and other fanatical Kingpins
And let them be taken like urchin for their tyranny
And turpitude has attained untold heights
Alayande Stephen .T
5th December, 2005
12.45pm
Conceptualized after the furore of OBJ’s
Third term bid for continuity of hunger ,
Anger and excruciating Poverty for mass of the people.
The air was thick with water,
And I listened to the sound of light,
Shake our tiny house, our tiny heads,
Your tiny heart,
And the big bad old sky,
The sounds of this old house,
And your old voice,
Make my brain and bones ache,
And the heat from your body makes me miss the cold,
The world was blurred to an impressionist painting,
When you strode out to swim in it,
To prove you could still be spontaneous,
And if you damn well wanted, you would,
I watched from the window,
You opened your mouth to it,
Like a fleshy, bad breathed cup,
And then kissed me with your precipitation-slimy lips,
Sometime in the night, I will sing you this whisper:
The say that rain leaves everything changed,
Freshborn butt-slapped baby new,
But it’s just old sewage making the rounds,
Your own piss pouring down on you,
Oh yes my darling, that’s all it is,
Your own piss pouring down on you.
My Secret Hoard
Carefully hidden at the back of the draw
Be careful, quiet, just the watch the door
I’m done if they catch me, but careful I’ll be
The zombies search well for something to see
Caught no mercy judged jailed I’ll go
A fool, evil man condemned I know
No razor sharp blade left there to cut
Or blue black dark pistol seven rounds in butt
No Street drugs guiding a willing mind astray
Or ghastly child pictures images secreted away
No, not all their running dogs running with all best scents
Will discover my treasured old light bulbs with old filaments!