Long Unquantifiable Poems
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Here I Stand, a muse
On the sacred hills of Idanre
Overlooking the land of my ancestors
A Land overflowing with vast varieties of unquantifiable resources
Land of Noble kings, elegant queens and fearless warriors
A Land where rain, sun, stars, and the moon
Never blink their eyes
Here I Stand
On the lofty heights of Sacred Idanre hills,
Savouring the beauty of a Land where Lions and leopards
Intermingle and stroll freely,
Ravelling, sunbathing and basking
In the vast, relentless forest, and bushes of Africa,
Playing hide and seek with nature;
A Land where elephants and hippopotamus
Hi five each other while listening to moonlight tales
Here I Stand, a muse
On the beautiful hills of Idanre
Savouring a Land of Bald Men with unquantifiable fountains
Of gray hairs saturated with wisdom;
And ageless mother's with locomotive
Of unquenchable milk of Love for humanity
Land of green white green, signifying hope, fertility and purity;
With people of different tongues and characteristics
Yet laced with one fate;
A Land,
Where citizens relentlessly toil to till the sacred soil
Our ancestors bequeathed us,
From dawn to dusk
With the fervent hope that tomorrow,
Entails a bountiful harvest befitting of the
Sacrifices of our sacred ancestors and God's gift to humanity!
Folks, I perused it in black and white;
The Octogenarian verbalized after the civil war that
"There are no victors and no vanquished."
Scores of years gone by, we now visualize
Who the victors and the vanquished are.
The victors are:
The remorseless oppressors, and downpressors,
Who traverse our land in their private jets and bullet proof SUVs, protected by a swart of armed guards
They are the ones who are not on meal schedules: 001, 101 or 100
The victors are the ones who do not lose sleep imagining where their next meal will materialize from, neither do they worry about budget surplus or deficit, when they dish out money from their endless illegal reservoirs
They are the ones who buy votes every election cycle from their loved ones, promising to advance their causes when elected, only to baptize them with more brimstone and hunger once voted into office
The vanquished have become the ones who eat the crumbs from their Masters laced as stomach infrastructure
The vanquished are our loved ones being held captive by Boko Haram
The vanquished are our loved ones who drown in the Mediterranean sea every day, in their quest to escape the misery inflicted on them by their fellow human beings
They are our loved ones being slaughtered like cows in Southern Kaduna, Plateau and Benue States
They are our loved ones languishing as refugees in IDP camps in their own country
A country sitting on a keg of gold, oil, fertile land unquantifiable and immeasurable resources
A country blessed with endless sunshine and manpower
The vanquished are the ones willing to lay down their lives for the love of their mother and father land
We know who the victors and the vanquished are!
from: "The Calyx of the Oboe Breaks", by Conrad Aiken:
"The calyx of the oboe breaks,
silver and soft the flower it makes;
and next, beyond, the flute notes seen,
now are white and now are green."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The ides of March have gone and come.
Still, strains of vernal music sound
clear echoes, in my ears, of early times,
of other years: an orchestral swell
of oboe, flute, and violin.
The feel of warming wind,
the scents of orange blossom,
daisy, buttercup, and clover
I once enjoyed --
are those days over?
My recent times are flavored
with metallic clank, with oily odor --
my eyes fatigued by newsprint
and small-screen glare.
And music: the blare
of claxon-horn and siren-wail
and, sometimes, noise which
issues from a box borne on shoulders
through the street; an empty, but compelling,
quite insistent, loudly pulsing beat.
I welcome all new, although slight, intrusions.
Pale sensory perceptions bring back images,
now faint, once acute, of places, times,
and pleasures past. Faded sights and faces
and shadowy, unquantifiable pursuits
evoke a time when love, like freedom,
didn't cost a dime.
When I grow up
I will love to know why
People call a Snake specie Rattlesnake,
When all snake actually Rattle
When I grow up
I will love to know why
People call death A Bitter Experience,
When they have not Tasted death
When I grow up
I will love to know why people say
He had a close shave with death,
But death is incapable of shaving anybody
When I grow up
I will love to know
Why people say they escaped by the skin of their teeth,
When their teeth actually has no skin
When I grow up
I will like to know
Why people use the expression thin god,
When God is actually omnipresent
When I grow up
I will like to know
Why people say watch your back,
But you have no eyes behind your back
When I grow up
I will love to know
Why people say something is larger than life,
But life is actually unquantifiable
When I grow up
I will love to know why people say
Do not count your chicken before they are hatched
When people do not rear chicken
When I grow up
I will like to know why people say
Do not bite the finger that fed you
When people eat with cutlery
When I grow up
I will like to know why
People want you to make hay while the sun shines,
When we are neck deep in winter
When I grow up
I will like to know why
People equate the devil with the deep blue sea,
When the devil is supposed to be dark and repulsive,
And the blue sea is bright and inviting
When I grow up
I will love to know why
People say don't leave your head hanging,
But your head is sitting squarely on your neck
When I grow up
I will love to know why
People say a baker's dozen,
When the baker obviously has more than a dozen baked bread
When I grow up
I will like to know why
People say let's call it a day
When it's daylight and the sun is Blazing
When I grow up.......
By Mark D. Stucky
Will AI’s promise
outweigh its peril?
Do we need more intelligence
even if it is not our own?
If AI someday emulates God or Devil,
will it be too late for us when we find out?
In spite of unquantifiable questions,
almighty algorithms relentlessly grow.
But accelerating AI worries me less
than declining human collective wisdom.
After centuries of expanding knowledge,
people now appear increasingly foolish.
Machines continually get smarter
while populations keep acting dumber.
We might have more to fear
from how we harm ourselves,
as we continue endless conflicts,
than from any ill AI causes us.
Our most dangerous menace isn’t AI.
The deadliest threat to us…is us.
(See also my poems "AI Awakening," “Haikus Against AI,” and “Weapons of Wonder.”)
(Image from anonymous artist on pixabay.com/illustrations/man-face-surreal-imagination-845847/.)
Nigerian people let us embrace the truth,
Bad Belly is Bad Belly
It is Bad Belly when your Father beats his chest,
And declares that "he is the giant of Africa,"
But he cannot boast of ordinary twenty four hours of
Uninterrupted power or water supply; your citizens are dying
In droves from lung cancer because of generator fumes
Bad Belly is when you say "you are a giant,"
But your children are dying in droves due to massive insecurity,
Investors are fleeing your country in droves;
Because the people who should protect them are underfunded, ill equipped and corruption breathes in every facet of our society
Bad Belly is when an Army officer gives you a dirty slap for being a good citizen, and a police officer who is standing by, says "esprit de corps to him and all correct sir," then orders you to turn the other cheek
It is Bad Belly when your Father says "he is a giant,"
But millions of graduates who toiled and paid millions to obtain their degrees have become beggars in their own country
It is Bad Belly when your yard is littered with gold, oil,
And all kinds of unquantifiable mineral resources,
But your citizens are dying in droves in an attempt to bail out of your country through the Mediterranean sea
It is Bad Belly when a defender clears a goal bound shot
From the goal line during extra time, and the coach labels him "a weak player" instead of a part on the shoulder; then turns around and invites a "basket" who greased his palms
Bad Belly is when you take your brand new car for an oil change which should cost no more than a few hundred Nairas, and the mechanic calls you and says a major overhaul of your car engine, carburetor, rack and pinion, odometer and shock absorbers, running into thousands of Nairas is needed
Bad Belly is when you are shedding tears of joy because
Life is good, but your neighbor who doesn't like seeing your ugly face says: "you are shedding crocodile tears."
Nigerians let us face the truth, : Bad Belly is BAD BELLY!
Pleasantly radiant, tranquil weather
blue skies & gently benevolent wind
a shimmering gift from Mother Nature
(a smoldering summer lurking in the distance)
Compulsively tracking an unquantifiable self:
steps, exercise minutes, calories, symptoms, etc.
stoical statistics dutifully logged into tired devices
(a futile endeavor to control life)
Cacophonous news oozing from the Malverse
menacing memes ricochet around the planet
updates of a horrid war threatening to devour the world
(a looming nuclear apocalypse)
Occupying space in old unedifying edifices gathering dark energy
running out the accelerating clock as civilization nears its breaking point
desperately seeking diversion while doling out doggerel
(a quest to imbue a desolate existence with meaning)
How long before it all falls apart?
Dreams of My African King
In the quiet hours of night, my African king visits me. His presence, both vivid and elusive, dances across the tapestry of my dreams. We spar—our voices colliding over the phone, tangled in passion and discord. His white t-shirt clings to memory, a canvas for whispered secrets and unspoken truths.
Laundry day becomes sacred—an intimate ritual. He separates his clothing, each fold a promise etched into fabric. I, too, remember the days when I stumbled over his name, syllables tripping like hesitant birds. A thousand rehearsals, yet he corrected me gently, unraveling my mispronunciations with patience.
How much more can I love him? Love, unquantifiable, spills beyond boundaries. It echoes in the cooing of doves—their soft wings carrying messages between realms. To love is to risk—the precipice where self dissolves, and soulmates emerge.
He visits me, not only in dreams but also in waking life. I glimpse him on bustling streets, in the hum of subway cars, and within the ink of my poems. Our souls, celestial magnets, draw close. We need each other—an equation of hearts seeking equilibrium.
I am a believer in God’s design. He weaves our paths, stitches constellations into existence. My king, once stronger, faced battles that scarred his spirit. Yet God’s promises remain—our shared destiny etched in stardust.
Me ma wo akye—may your eyes witness miracles. In the quietude of night, may your African king’s silhouette linger, a beacon across the vast expanse of longing.
Africa,
The undiluted genealogy of humanity and humility
The undisputed abode of nature
Surrounded by wild bushes, forests, winding rivers,
Uncountable mountains, endless valleys, sacred hills
And unasailable caves
The breeding ground for crocodiles, Gorilla's, Lions, Buffalo's
And unquantifiable exotic animals
The domicile of moonlight tales;
Tales laced with valor and splendor
Africa,
Where the stars and the moon defiantly compete
To outshine, and out manoeuver each other
And Sunshine and rain are a constant menace
The home of Kings and Queen's
Where the resonance of unquenchable laughter
Mimics the reverberating clap of thunder
Drowning and submerging the echoes of war and famine
Like a sinking submarine.
DON’T YOU REMEMBER?
Just one terrible event
So terrible an event; it affected everything
It changed everything; it changed us
We turned against each other; bitter enemies
We walked, passing each other on the roadside uttering no words
It’s that bad; we can’t even look at each other.
Just look at us now
We have taken sides with our enemies
We fell in hate; we so much hate ourselves right now
We think nothing else except what will bring harm to each other
This has been going on for quite some time now
The birth of each day refreshes the enmity.
Staring at the mirror; staring at my heart
What an ugly sight it is; staring at the broken pieces of what remains of my heart
Just thinking of nothing; there is nothing to think about
I know that I messed up; now, I miss the love I lost with unquantifiable regrets
Do you know that you also messed up?
We had it all; love, trust, understanding and compatibility
We were so good together; what happened to us?
We loved each other more than Romeo and Juliet could ever have done
Don’t you remember?