Long Gold coast Poems
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The warm sand trickled through my fingers.
I wriggled my toes and felt no shoes.
Opening my eyes and quickly closing them.
The bright sun blinded me for a moment.
The gentle ripple of waves lapping the shore.
I sat up from my sandy resting place.
The day was hot and the air was so fresh.
I still had my party clothes on, and what was this?
A note in my pocket, scribbled on crumpled paper.
It read: What a gr8 party, Welcome to our tropical isle, please stay.
Slowly my eyes focused. I read a sign SWIM BETWEEN THE FLAGS
Shaking the sand off me as I stood, I tried to make out where I was.
Still groggy from those wonderful cocktails last night,
I vaguely remembered being too smashed to drive.
Not to worry, I am unharmed and had a great time.
It’s a beaut day, and this beach is pretty amazing.
I picked up my shoes laying beside me, heels weren’t for the beach.
Wandering along the shoreline, the cool wet sand underfoot.
A familiar sign on the life guard’s club house read :
Queensland, beautiful one day perfect the next. The Gold Coast
Laughing, I ran across the warm sand to the street.
Time to walk half a mile back to where the party was to collect my car.
I was in my own beautiful wonderful tropic Island.
Palm trees lining the beaches, sunny days on golden sand.
Amazing animals found nowhere else, tropical fruit, and coconuts,
Bananas and mangos and pineapple and my favorite pawpaw.
Clean clear water from our dams, friendly multicultured folk,
Cute lifesavers, Oh no way would I ever want to leave here !
So proud of my Australian, tropical island home.
Unbroken Love Shells
Do you remember the walls that stood between us like unbroken shells
of fully boiled eggs?
Do you remember there were no good reasons behind the periods of time we misunderstood each other when we first got acquainted?
This balm of protection helped us to maintain our virginity
We were enveloped in this substance deep down from the realms of the unborn world
When we lay gently breathing as fresh fetus in our mothers' womb
We appeared to mother earth as Africans building ancient castles in the air
Beyond the genuine attractions that shined like seals upon our bond of friendship
We kept circumventing our chats around the globe with a compass guiding us in the midst of our deep troubled seas
We had exchanged smiles which stirred up questions awakening senses of insecurity
Born as blacks there hung the pure shells that hid the vitality of our constancy
-the rich nutrients our wearied souls would feed upon
These nutrients would repair the broken tissues of the injuries we sustained upon the long hours of breeding fears within our spirits
Feeling as though we were enslaved inside the not perforated mighty fenced cities belonging to King Agokoli of old
May the very sharp pains that oozed from our palms of courageous handshakes
not sound like the operation of the devil's juju
May we never become embittered fellows
We're one family- from one black descent
All and sundry bathed constantly during infancy
with the time- honoured mahogany leaves that stood in the centre of the Gold Coast
Let's hold high the torch of love
Keep it burning as we climb the Legon hills of this new era
And breathe the moist air that keeps our proud continent unique
Africa would unite to hear our success
The story of the twin harmonious musical legends
Nurtured from far distant unknown lands.
“She lies in the western region of the black race territory apportioned back from generations,
Within the 11th century era,
Filled with typical black men with strong melanin,
Who lives semi-primitively to satisfy the necessities of their dreams and aspirations,
Under the rise and fall of the sun, soundly…
A land raising walkers from different routes permanently,
Deepening and sharpening the definitions of social culture at highest peak,
Profoundly marked upon the Gulf of Guinea,
Acclaiming the recognition of undeniable reputation,
Her heart dripped with blood in the course of human trading,
The historic period where hope and self-realizations seem to never return for formal grading,
The blood of her forefathers through the purpose of mightiness erected her back magnanimously,
She is clothed with discipline and self-actualizations,
Shaping the conspiracy arrayed in her senses to meet everyday determinations,
And it`s steadfastly concluded by the views of observing neighbors and willing spectators,
Possesses cherishable name highly distinguished,
Subbed with riches bridged over an expandable range,
And this proves the result of past event which left her offspring anguished,
They conformed to shame, just to get the inspiring tenets of their motherland among headlines on global page,
Which brought about the achievement of independence…
Based on the ideologies and firmness of the Kwame Nkrumahs and the rest,
If probably you`re not figuring anything out,
I mean “GOLD COAST”,
A unitary presidential constitutional democracy,
The present “GHANA”,
Meaning “Warrior King” in the Soninke language,
Home of peace always deserving honor,
Who always stand against a sign of savage,
Indeed, the land is full of courage”
“GOD BLESS OUR MOTHERLAND”
THE CONDITION WE LIVING IN:Part 2:
The condition we living in,
The country is full of danger and doom.
Things are badly getting hard.
Politicians and technocrats are always deepening the afflictions of the citizens.
Always on the television debating aimlessly on unreasonable subjects.
They keenly rant to impress…with the idea to mislead the minds of the poor natives.
And it seems all hope is totally lost.
They ask us to trust them with our thumbs for development,
But we find them nowhere after they’ve won the polls.
“A dreadful story of disappointment and agony”,
Religion and politics are wiping out loyalty and self-actualizations.
In fact, theocracy is diminishing the peace and comfort of the land,
Instead of empowering the populace to understand reality.
The condition we living in,
Education is held preciously as a mandatory factor to individual establishment,
But at the end of the tunnel, the supposed light to be seen is replaced by darkness.
Lack of employment and resources will then serve its victims with frustrations.
The available jobs ranging in every sector too is always on sale,
And it even lacks a vital assurance.
This is the phase where dreams are shattered,
I mean this is where good people are nurtured into bad ones.
The stage that inseparably feralizes the youth, propagate insubordinations and desperations.
Speculatively, this is where the concentration is aligned towards personal interests and gains.
People begin to trade their integrity with all manner of disgust (prostitution, cyber fraud, human trafficking, theft and what have you).
Life in Gold Coast,
Indeed, this is the condition we living in.
Exploring the suburbs at Melbourne
Glad are the late nights’ burnt
Bustling Bourke Street Mall
Epitome of a retail therapy’s call
The archaic Flinder’s Station
Scheduling warrants attention
Cho-chooing to Sydney
Never costs a kidney
The surmountable Clothes Hanger
Climbing it is not a head-banger
The romantic Sydney harbour
Releases lovers’ masquerade and cover
The stunning Opera House
Pit stop onwards to the south
The flora of the Botanical Garden
Seemingly children running at kindergarten
The national parks of Wollongong
Hitting the musical notes of the gong
Rekindling memories of Bosman’s Bay
Is a paradise comes what may
Forgoing the isle of Tasmania
That would be the fear of Cradle Mountain mania
In the southern city of Hobart
Where we could relish a tart
Sailing off to Perth
That was never my berth
Discovering the untouched Fremantle
Goes to show an adventurer’s mantle
Diving the Great Barrier Reef
Provides a temporary relief
Coasting the white beaches of Gold Coast
The locals are but good hosts
Annihilated by the waves of the Pacific
Almost make thee panic
Crisscrossing the plains of Adelaide
Part of the best plans’ laid
Allure of the Red Centre
Australia’s stunning epicentre
In the midst of a red desert
Harbour hopes to return and not divert
Discovering the monumental Alice
Go head to head with some malice
Sailing across Katherine’s Gorge
The fissures is a sight to watch
The northern tip of Darwin
Just like the pinnacle wanting to win
Ode to the Northern Territory
A journey of national geographic really
Viva the land of Oz
Paradise and grandiose she was
TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
I’m giving up, can’t take no more, I’ve reached the final straw,
How do you find a flamin’ job when you’ve turned fifty-four,
I’ve knocked on nigh a thousand doors and trudged a million miles,
To find me name pushed into draws, in the unwanted files.
But with all me money run out, and me life stuck in a hole,
Me ego has to disappear, and I must sign up for the dole,
This is the worst day in me life, I’m embarrassed to the core,
Standing at a counter waiting for the bloke to hear me score.
I introduced meself and told him straight “I don’t want the dole,
I really want to find a job, and that’s me utmost goal,
I’m sick of handling regimes, then being told ‘so long!’
Mate I really, really want a job…‘sit down’ money is so wrong!”
“Well! Your timing is amazing” Said the fella with a grin,
“A job that might be right for you, has just been penciled in,
A wealthy bloke now wants a chauffeur, to drive his flashy car,
And you must be a bodyguard, for his nymphomanic daughter”.
“Clothing will all be supplied, and with long hours for this work
All your meals will be provided free…yes, there is another perk,
Three holidays upon the Gold Coast are provided every year,
And your salary will not be less, than two hundred grand a year”.
I must admit that I was silenced by the offer that he read,
But wary ‘bout his cushy job, so that is why I said,
"I think you’re talking garbage mate, and bull crapping quite a bit”.
Then he replied with just a nod. “Yeah, well you bloody started it!”
You looking towards the sky hoping to get something?
Aigbofa lanwoke, ifakan kosi ni paara.
Why and how would you do that when you're not Abraham,
Unto him whose life was tested to be the father of all nations?
Could you stand such test with no hope for better thing?
Try it and you see your life be better,
Neither can the mother soil do same.
In the sacks she uses to exist gold coast our hopes are pack to other nations.
What's our hopes and where lies our lives?
Even the grave can't question her judgment,
Lest it dies the second death before the judgment of Messiah.
Iku npalosan onpaloru,
The poor daily cry and the rich grow in their desire.
Our lads are the weapons of the merchant crew
While their children are being nurture for political sits.
The beautiful ones are yet to be born and the ugly are failing to die.
This is the stream of our daily cry.
Haven't lost focus the use of hijab is the major talk in town
That our schools are forced to be closed down.
All in pretence of the right to religion and association,
Neglecting that not all right is absolute for the purpose of peace of the nation.
Look into my eyes and tell me that my skull has gone below my ankle.
And I will tell you that a trial of putting on this right cant be handle.
Think oh think my dear,
Cos the mother soil needs us more for it to be clear.
Better than being the generation of Cain for the power that rest in us.
©Olorode Olorunleke Samuel.
We suddenly strolled down Lakeshore drive
facing Goethe street named after Wolfgang von
Goethe famous German poet just at the crosswalk
while waving to the hidden Walter Payton
nooks wandering steel of recycled metal
forming beautiful art found beneath the
Gold coast and shorelines of ancient buildings
surrounding the Drake hotel while rust erosion
casted away sticking to the bottom of stalled
sail boats awaiting the thaw of Lake Michigan
dashing for coffee mingling with the chess
players when a lady stepped on my sketchers
right at the heel I continued strutting reaching
Lincoln park zoo in time for the giant Tigers
to pounce my finger tips began to frost a bit
I took a few easy steps to the museum I always
love the museums of Chicago dazzled by creativity
art and history settling down the Dusable atmosphere
I supposed I'd wandered to far facing the cheese
building on Lasalle and Van Burean that housed
all the serial killers over looking Navy pier in a faint
distance I approached Maggie Daley park named
after Mayor Daleys precious wife finally resting for a
calming respite overlooking the cities shoreline
walking backwards I notice the water tower behind
a quiet bench empty calming glancing over the hustle
and bustle of Lakeshore drive last stop the sign reads
do not enter only way Goethe and Lakeshore drive the
old homeless shelter salvation army chaplin services home
That's Chicago
Beyond the blue ...
sailing past the farthest tearful kiss blown
Hoping for clear skies ahead,
as my Aussie eyes see wallaby clouds
joyfully jumping by
From Perth to Sydney,
a dragging anchor of parting sadness
has dropped to the deep
Last thoughts of loneliness
is an indigo splash of speeding aft memories
Decked in colorful, island attire ...
sitting leisurely behind a free-spinning nautical wheel
Passenger on an unscheduled wave ride,
heading to wherever
the romantic adventure wind blows
beyond the Gold Coast
Pineapple pleasure ... tropical frozen feeling
soothes the kiss-parched lips
On a lounge deck, sitting beside an open port window,
I listen to the receding waves of the rainforest echoes
Going to the other side of life —
that joyous Aussie place,
a heartbeat above Mt. Gambier
From Melbourne to New Castle,
I searched platonic near and engagement far
for the missing part of my heart
I tear trekked thru the bleak urban wilderness,
and the barren suburban outback
From Wodonga to Toowoomba,
looking in hotel high and motel low places,
the hidden treasure wasn’t found
Now, I finally reached the other side of life —
that beautiful Aussie place,
a heartbeat above Mt. Kaputar
Beyond the blue ...
sailing past the farthest dream sigh mist blown
Crystal clear skies loom ahead,
as my dancing Aussie eyes see kangaroo clouds
hopping happily by
A place to be; a home to live,
Full of cultures and traditions,
rivers of live.
In crossing the Mediterranean,
‘criss-crossing’ the continent, you see…
A mountain of rivers,
running the Niles to desert,
crossing the Niger to the ocean,
a Congo in the Basin, an orange of waters,
the Silver of Gold Coast.
Africa! A Limpopo in Zambezi.
Wild wild cat mewing on jaro mountains,
climbing the Zuma face,
and ascending from the Jos-Plateau.
Africa! A sight and sound,
a sound of Saka Zulu,
and a sight of Mandela.
A sound of Mau Mau song,
and a sight of Jomo Kenyatta.
The voice of Nkrumah,
prompting tying broom sticks together.
The zikist Movement,
and the freedom of the child.
Africa! A child once weeping,
but Ngugi says, ‘Weep Not Child’.
Once tried,
in ‘the trial of Brother Jero’.
Once chained,
Kaunda assured, ‘Zambia shall be free’.
Achebe saw ‘Things fall apart’,
observed, ‘The center cannot hold’,
but, Addis Ababa held the center.
Africa! Chanting a new song,
the song that unchained the chains of Mandela,
replacing the guns with tables and chairs.
A song written in ‘So Long a Letter’,
making brothers sit with brothers,
a song recited while sitting around a table.
A song of reasoning; a song of understanding;
but the last stanza of the song says;
Not yet Uhuru