Long Megalomania Poems
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I whewed unto myself
I whewed unto who cares to listen
I screeched unto them
I warbled unto all
She is a beauty to behold
But beyond beauty
My dear country is suffering
She is suffering from . . . megalomania
My expected willing whee
Became my unexpected unwilling wheel
To which I wee unwillingly
At the sight of the whittle
Whence forth is my whet to Whelm
My willingness to willingly will my will
To my beauty beholding beyond beauty
My dear country is
She is . . . stealthy coquettish.
Alayande Stephen .T
26th September, 2005
2.45pm
NB-Conceptualised for Nigeria's 45 years
Independence Anniversary.
Brave New World
A 'world' it is and it spins around in mad circuits of loopy loops.
Has reached an infinite array of denominations in which foolish
insane clowns have taken over the asylum once more as bedlam
pretends liberation as the counterfeit currency of nauseating progress.
'New' I have my doubts though when fiddling with reconstruction
conjures novel aspirations from Holocaust to Hiroshima from pure
race unadulterated megalomania to narcissistic greed ‘all can be
done’ but the genie emerges from Huxley’s toxic bottle unrestrained.
'Brave' should pertain to courage when golden means and common
sense of virtue defaced by ugly grimaces facades mascara of tainted
moderation succumbs to mediocrity construed by disingenuous evil.
An aberration of jesters plotting naked feasts of blinded engineering.
Temptation is an ancient theme and just because we are capable to
plot our own demise does not preclude some hesitation or valid
inhibition as courage must incorporate the rationale. Not to follow in
wolf’s clothing a script of Faustian cloning just because we can.
Manipulation of chromosomes through twisted recombining helices
as a stairway to hell gave us Dolly the sheep. Another incarnation
braying ‘Give me body parts’ to harvest stem cells modified amino
acids like little devils on steroids and protein shakes of unpredictability.
The most cunning argument for creating whole new persons brought
to the fore the notion that if we the ‘good ones’ do not follow science
to create what evolution failed to build from nature’s garden and God’s
promise then the malign others surely will and consequently all is lost.
The mind boggles in the light of self-righteousness and the delusion
that refusal and resistance are signs of cowardice and the misconception
that two or numerous wrongs result in right and law when duty could
prevail as guardian for another world of sanity and accepting our limits.
The thought police and miscreant paradigms of Dolly’s dogma will surely
try to silence my opinion that courage has another merit than the scientific
infestation that my mind and brain needs to be cloned in order to restrain
my voice of caution but when I shout ‘enough’ at least my dignity remains.
Santa Clauses were to be molten and reshaped into Holy Cross bunnies
on a mega 3D printer but then the app somehow went wrong
Chocolate trickled and trifled and mixed with fake season’s greetings
King Kong and Godzilla leaped off the assembly line with
Witches on lolly pop brooms and then the whole show went viral
Mephistopheles aliens with marshmallow ears danced merrily
Suddenly truffle snakes in seductive icing sugar bikinis tested tempted
cotton sugar candy apples as big as paradise vowed and allowed
They all swirled swished and tumbled to cacophonous tunes that had
to be labelled as retro and neo-modern-classical rap-sorties
At the exit of malfunctioning malls the Easter display went a tad pear-shaped
as soon as the rabbits slipped out of their hats and mounted the chickens
The mistress and master of ceremonial clangour had at problem at hand
and some egg on their faces thus they squirted and squinted
They pondered and squandered with no solution untouched for the task
how to make more profits and be politically correct just the same
‘Megalomania’ and ‘Mega-High-Money’ the respective CEO’s of ‘Turn water into
wine’ and the start-up ‘Chocolate Merry Go Round for the Soul’
Could not fail in this venture as not to have their heathen bonuses
dissolved into cocoa mousse splash
After meetings and brain storms pilot studies and polls they decided to craft
a whole new religion (the Independent Unseasonal Reformed Epiphanists)
Fortunately the United Philistines of Consumption were too busy to notice that
the newly created faithful were simply rehashing an old dogma of money
What a shame that those lovely chocolate coins have gone out of fashion and
That Buddhists would not want their spiritual model to melt under the fig tree
09th April 2018 Written for the contest Easter 2018
Good things will grow, from planting healthy seeds,
Bad things develop, when we start to pay no heed,
Grains grew and flourished, filling up our fields,
Why oh why, did we cut down all the trees,
To move giant statues, in honor of our dead,
We needed so much wood, to build rollers and sleds,
Competition grew between us, megalomania spread,
Statues got bigger, along with enormous heads.
Soil started to vanish, every time it rained,
No trees to absorb, through porous rock it drained,
Harvests failed, our children starved in vain,
Battles broke out, opposing clans where blamed.
Hard times came upon us, diseases ensued,
Cannibals emerged, in search of meaty food,
Sought solace in our statues, they remained unmoved,
Gaze fixated on the ocean, behind landscape in denude.
Easter Island remains a lesson, not to trust mankind,
A microcosm of our planet, when nature’s undermined,
Even as I write this poem, earth’s being redesigned,
Chimneys our new statues, spewing filth into the clime.
Ice sheets are melting, forests are burning wild,
Sea levels rising, with each and every tide,
Population’s growing, while reserves are in decline,
Will we heed the warnings, of course when out of time.
In the sea of swirling dust that is our infinity
Held together by the breath of Divinity
Infinitesimal microdots are we
Yet megalomania rules our see.
Do ants blindly view themselves as lords of their world
In their intricately marshalled social whirl?
Does the Higgs Boson,if it exists,
Boast worlds invisible to our questing wits?
Majestic laws govern our creation
With life's jigsaw of interconnection
Which mere accident cannot explain
In the welter of our cosmic pain.
Marooned on a piece of grit
We fondly believe that this is it.
We can solve the mystery of our fate
As Dawkins and Hawking blithely state
Improve our instruments to deeper fathom
Into the once indivisible atom
Enhance our telescopes to peer further into space
Life's mystery aye remains to bewilder our gaze.
It is in our DNA always to explore
But no matter how deep nor how far
Our scientific knowledge we advance
Life's mystery aye leads us a merry dance
Yet we must to our nature be true
In trying to find a clear way through
So that we stand proud,tall and justified
But we still remain small and mystified.
Relative is time,the conjuror,
With its tricks of smoke and mirror
In a world that seems so solid
While shimmer its particles pellucid.
Our senses feel that they truly see
But we cannot know reality.
Written: May 12, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: “Set yourself on fire and seek those who fan your flame.” By Rumi
**********************************
I sliced through the strings
that thawed my dreams in shadow,
tossing them into the time tiara
of celestial orbs and supple styles.
Periwinkle-plum dawns defy time;
Bright blooms grow in cosmic cracks.
Dusk falls on barren land, esoteric embers;
With an aching heart, I walk alone,
serenading with blue lotus meteors.
The wand of Kismet gleams akin to stone,
as cinnamon-glazed magic unravels.
Each shift is a fascinating fight—
light-flecked drape, lyrical elixir, elegies;
curling mulberry-leaf marrow fades.
After the kernel, I strive for clarity
without crash or catharsis, without pain.
A lovely wind touches my smile—
In the pulse of erased promise.
An impending divorce is stipulated.
In echoes of exquisite and ubiquitous,
lavender-sequined crystals of shift,
I sail beyond the rhyming reefs to embrace divorce.
Cut wistful strings, salty lines, diving into rhapsody...
Torn uncanny links below heavy waves,
free to explore unmet routes
amid vanilla plankton tears.
May I find solace in every crooked teal smile.
O, if sepia pearls and reverie state a split,
I release and love what is not meant to stay.
Even with moon megalomania, using past wisdom,
the plants wide wings amid the warm sky
and herbs flexed with a deceased breeze of joy.
I sip in the glorious, gold-and-cherry air,
Clouds of bewilderment have dissipated.
In a captivating cosmos, clarity clings.
Hunger, turmeric-tinted roses follow an idyllic climb,
and whispers shout boldly—unafraid, Nix!
Ominous night glows appear as we fly across the sky.
We claim our position under brilliant beams
and the rose-glazed moon,
while myths merge across endless twilight.
Heartbroken after its fateful odyssey,
among the stars, free from a fixed kismet.
I will sleep calmly, wishing for plum rings
to create a pearlescent paradise.
The Estuary of Esoteric Embers
laces my home with soul-searching chimes,
whistling away in flavors of forgiveness.
We drove all day on dusty roads to Xian
in the Shaanxi province
to see the clay men.
The army is deployed in large archaeological pits.
Our guide, a Chinese beauty, marshals us from the front
like any good general.
Her voice is a dulcet lagoon
in this desiccated place.
We all notice that her silk cheongsam
clings to her embroidered,
peach of a bottom.
The arsenic-poisoned emperor died as mad as a hatter,
believing a metalloid would grant him endless life.
It`s difficult to tell if his megalomania arrived
before his craziness, or after
but they buried him deep where insanity is timeless.
As we file out, I look back.
The clay spear carriers
the foot soldiers, the dusty officers
even the horses,
all of them seem to be stifling smirks -
their eyes latched upon
a heavenly peach, no doubt.
Some ghost in peoples mind need to control,
every aspect of circumstance to enroll.
The raging spirit in constant demand to chase illusion,
with sweet words, drama and phony conclusion.
The fear of not being in charge by all means,
destroys all good attention in short coming’s not seen.
Hidden fragile uncertainties covered by shallow believe,
creating painful structures with no relief.
Destinies beatitude pointed towards all direction,
chained to the source of this infection.
The perjuries towards the illusion of freedom,
is the constant rising of another millennium.
The catastrophic ripple effect towards the relative,
by poor judgments sensed has competitive.
Megalomania is the belief of power abilities regardless,
shallow emotional intellect performed by ruthless charges.
Powerful and admirable pictures are usually the point,
questioning others towards responsibilities being a ‘disappoint’.
The dragon of false illusion has many heads,
taken others credit and values as alphabet.
Mystic pseudonyms is the fire in the oxygen,
riding the beast of burden to the melancholic dungeon.
They approached me in an inconspicuous way
as quaint & confusing disillusionments do,
saying, " Hello, you're the best - "
I replied reluctantly,
" Thats why I weep every night - " ,
crying like a captured secret,
sorrowful like a caged cure for cruelty,
they became silent as photographs missing sentiments,
our dialogue was at an end,
was my statement a joke, modesty, a travesty,
nobody wins something of value by themselves,
One cannot taste the terror of triumph individually,
and risk is instinct to a Victor's jubilee,
I mention these maxims as testaments,
validations for the tears of all winners
who have lost tremendously along the avenue named " Greatest " ,
there exist three inevitable enemies that attempt to impede
the achievements of all great people, ironically,
these serve as motivations not to rest,
first, the lazy luxuries of life that stymie the strength
of ambition and when absent,
induce abject illusions of incredible iniquities
which stifle Will,
secondly, undisguised, unabashed competitors
whom combat without care or compassion for others,
devoid of devotions to fairness or decorum,
thirdly, and sadly, loss of loyal friends,
they once greeted you respectfully, then eventually
cheerfully, dutifully deride you for exposing mediocrity,
please don't dismiss this lesson of lonesome liberation via success
as a proud 'pity parade', masquerading megalomania,
or as being dreamily decietful,
to be a faithful, or even phony follower,
to be intentionally indolent or dastardly discouraging is so simple,
so safe,
Freedom is often distasteful -
J.A.B.
Nero the god! I had a dream.
There I was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
Mother was with me as usual.
As we reached a cross-roads, Agrippina said:
"Come Nero, here we turn left" But I said:
"No, mama, 'WE' do not. I'm gonna turn right!"
And that's what I did. She shouted after me:
"Become emperor, Nero, though you slay me".
The path led upwards toward the snowy heights,
past the lush vernal pastures of the lower slopes,
past vineyards and groves of olive trees,
through forests of oaks, birches,
willows, elms, yews and poplars and all holy trees,
past the crags where the chamois chewed stunted grass,
and the last brave wind-blasted pine
tossed and raged in defiance of the elements, I ascended,
till there was no other thing under heaven
but burning, blinding snow,
a conflagration no less fierce than that which now I see.
I looked down at the world of men,
and what should I see but -- ants!
The air was thin and pure - then the prize!
The summit appeared from behind a cloud-rift.
Treacherous thoughts welled up from within me:
"High climbers play with death –
death by freezing, death that lurks
in the shadow of a measureless abyss.
Was I not trespassing on holy ground? ‘
“Remember Icarus, remember Prometheus,"
sighed voices in the wind,
but then a louder voice from within me
bade me fear no counsel fit for the craven.
And so to the summit.
And what should I see when reached the Olympian heights,’
other than .....fierce Jupiter? Mighty Zeus?
I'll tell you what I saw!
There seated on an ivory throne, a frail old man,
whose long white beard fluttered in the wind.
His expression was more torpor than aught else.
That was it! He looked rather like...
some doddering old patriarch
that was Consul before Caesar's time.
As I approached, he tried to look grave and austere,
pathetically shaking his hoary senile head.
His trembling hand reached down –
I saw a quiver full of arrows
and a pile of thunderbolts at his side.’[
Now was my chance!
I seized him by the scruff of the neck,
and flung him down the mountain-side.
The last I saw of him was as he reeled
head over heels into a ravine.
Then I shouted in triumph to the four winds.
"THE OLD GOD IS DEAD.
Now I'm Top Dog. I got de thunderbolts".
Only a dream?
Perhaps. Dreams pass,
but not what they portend.