Long Satireold Poems
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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.
Form:
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.
Form: