discard all concepts upon us foisted ~
instead let the flag of love be hoisted
So much promise "Green White Green"
So resplendent were you as the;
Union Jack was being lowered and
The Green White Green as foisted
That glorious evening of
The First of October, 1960
So much promise, Green White Green
From the North to the South were you cheered
The East and the South also cheered you.
You were a symbol of nationhood so craved.
Partitioned in 1884 in Berlin a destiny created
Amalgamated the Lord Lugard "Niger area"
a coinage
An Amalgamated so despised by by all
Yet Green White Green Nigeria carved by destiny
Still trying to come to grips with its destiny
Ethnic colourations a parallel across the Niger area.
(Written 10th of March, 2015)
up and down like a jo-jo
the mind flits in opposite motions
causes doubt and delight
hardly ever rests quietly
and yet sometimes it reaches
moments of clarity
no sound disturbs its tranquility
visions fall upon an empty canvas
all senses merge into one
it is not reason nor emotion
but a meandering spirit
and when ebbs and flows
touch each other’s caress
the soul divines a powerful moon
creates a transcendental journey
thoughts are merely opinions
foisted upon us by social demand
propping up the Ego’s false needs
feelings however valuable
can be illusions
when no truth is to be had
without light there is no darkness
in symbiosis they create one
with shades of grey in between
picturesque extremes
glorious attempts of reality
breathtaking placeholders
of universal forces
that entice us to breathe in
and out of Nirvana
Glacial sent wet winds to chase out autumn radiance,
Snowdrift saints powdered white many gardens,
Leaving long flakes to peel open the morning ~
Secretly smiling...
Morning emerged radiantly recuperating,
Silence silenced, replaced by stormy sunshine,
Winter's wetness welcomed wholeheartedly ~
Singing for springtide...
Flaky flakes foisted frosts on plenty pavements,
Beautiful blessings brillianty raved a reprieve,
New natural warmth to sweet succour so sought ~
Springtime sunshine.
Pitter patters foisted wetness on the roofs,
A cat meows noisily to the rain spoofs,
her sweet noise rhythmed the dog's delicious woofs,
The treasure they sang into ears is the proof,
They both hopped like a radiant horse on hoof.
Mice run around to show they enjoyed their shows,
one, bold enough, even danced on my toes.
Their song was enriched by some noisy frogs' croaks,
that pierced the beats proving it not a hoax.
Some cocks occasionally chorused with crows.
Raindrops beat drums to make the ears more pleasing,
Thunders deafened the flow with their fast sneezing.
That made me to hum sweetness to their nice sound,
Now on my feet, my joy danced round and round,
Just then, the mice joined with their sweet soft wheezing,
Suddenly, the sky then stopped its pretty cries,
Maybe, the song that stopped the rain was by spies.
Sadness chased happiness far into the dark,
All was silent except the dog's angry barks,
Not even the stars could twinkle in the skies.
Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.
So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.
Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,
No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?
Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.
Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.
America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.
So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.
But here I am, foisted into a corner.
My back straight, still as a scarecrow.
Mean as a scarecrow.
And they are like birds,
But instead of fleeing, they are simply chirping.
Not even at me, but around and around.
They are chatting, and my own teeth are chattering, but it’s not loud enough for them to hear.
Welcome, welcome! Welcome to this event that everyone cares about for some reason.
I want to just pretend to faint, so maybe they’ll say I can go home.
And hey! They’ll have something to laugh about when I’m gone.
But no, they need me.
They will laugh when they get home, but here I am welcome, welcome, welcome.
And they call it inclusion.
fondue's folksy fiendish foolish fiery Phoebe
fondly followed foppish fish foraging fibster Fee
ferocious foggy falls focus folklore fancy-free
fifty-fifty finnish fish foisted fiddle faddle fantasy
foolhardy footprint festered foofaraw foxy
feuding French fowls feverishly fighting fibster fee
fortunate footstools fostered finished folksy Phoebe
folly of finding feverishly fertile f-words is forever up to me.
Ade is a Nigerian patriot
But permanent in US’ Detroit,
There, charming Nigerian Flag hoisted,
Bared schemes upon him foisted…
Ade, The Rare Nigerian Patriot,
Scarcely planning to leave Sweet Detroit,
Shall unfailingly shoot all of them,
Giving his Giant. causeless problem:
Politicians who might risk Rigging
He’d begun their graves a-digging:
For them the cheapest US caskets,
A little costlier than Mum’s baskets;
Never to stubborn pressures relax
On compatriots evading Paid Tax…
To keep performing civic duties,
From where he had kept quaffing fruities.
That Pentecost Sunday in Owo
As worshippers assembled
For the rain of Holy Spirit
Men of the underworld
Wielding the tools of their ungodly trade
Rained satanic bombs and bullets on innocent congregants
And two scores lay dead
While many more injured
Leaving families devastated
Dreams brutally cut short
And reign of fear foisted on
The hitherto peaceful community
All in the name of extremism
And misguided religiosity
What a sacrilege in God’s temple?
What a desecration of His sanctuary?
What an audacious confrontation with God
In His terrestrial abode?
The wicked will never go unpunished
Vengeance is of the lord
At His time they will reap
The fruit of their wickedness
Feel within bliss zing in our bones
Rapture scintillating
Foisted scriptures not etched on stones
Shift from thought to feeling
Know that we are not weak
Be strong, humble, yet meek
We are that, who we seek
Word is not the thing
Feel within bliss zing
19-October-2021
Quietus
Today is the impending
Christianity appears tepid we do not think of it
as a centre of our life.
I dislike all religions they are fairytales for adults
that demands to be taken seriously.
Ladies decorating the church with flowers while secretly
lusting after the vicar.
We remember Blair and Bush both are Christians
in its name, they invaded Iraq and killed thousands
of perfectly innocent people,
The Christians have for hundreds of years and foisted
their version upon masses who already have a god.
The occupiers of Palestine belong to the western culture
and they will be the biggest losers when the weakness
of our insipid culture cracks as the world implode.
Haiku riddle
tons of garbage
left by those who want peace
the right to be ty
people like to march
to the tune of pied piper
social conscience
when everyone concurs
they are usually dead wrong
bombs are exploding
consensus are fakes
foisted on naive people
thinking in unison
beware of peace traders
they want you to agree with them
dark hearts of hate
Thinking is seaman's chore
in calm oceans, not the seagul's noise.
You need the right condition to
avoid sublimation-- a house burned down
by a mob needs practicing generosity.
Thinking of suffering in pandemic is itself
an act of suffering, needing resuscitation. Start with masks on the dead without coffins, truck-loads of bodies, with no where to go, ghosts of doctors exiting to cheering crowd, ambulances screeching to a halt, melting urban hot zones and infectious rural alarms.
You need the right condition to survive thinking of suffering, the wailing in hospital hallways, the hungry and the food banks, the mothers and bored infants, poorly-clad nurses teeming with pride. Pandemic has foisted new thinking on future survival, not trips to Niagra Falls. Thinking is luxury of living, not mortgaged by the dead, and suffering in thinking is legacy of the dead. Before the pandemic thinking was an easy kill by TV and internet, now pegged to a killer surge.
Ask for the roots of suffering and you never get it right, xenophobia's order of the day and thinking in despair. I think therefore I am – infected with fear and dread. I suffer, therefore I am.
Your avant-garde home fills a crucial niche
ensures the perpetuation of outrageous kitsch
The painting on the wall entitled 'Insemination'
keeps this admirer on the brink of regurgitation
That chlorophyll-fish oil drink your butler foisted on me
helps me every fifteen minutes or so to pee
As for your 'petrified out-of-water deep sea plants'
Don't look now; they're on fire with carpenter ants
Then there's your 'mahvelous' retro pet rock collection
pinched, no doubt, from the local House of Corrections
I must confess that your house is, indeed, quite impressive
~ considering that your compulsions are beyond obsessive
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