The Song Of A Poet
(Dedicated To Amirah Akilu)
The song of the rain
Preaching us to farm
And be workaholics!
The song from the stream
Administer us to refresh our life
For being good and aesthetic!
The song voices by the birds
Is the most beautiful and sexy
How that it could be?
'Tis twirling lights tonight
And even when the sun born the rays
O! They sing to crown-molding!
I'm gleeful for being with you
As the preacher of our thatches area —just
To make our togetherness in the future
What is life when feud friended?
Life wouldn't be continued murmuring
But it will be in a regular retrogression.
Have mercy to each other
And not forget about the Almighty God
In any colour you blink thy eyes
Stand very chubby for His shaping
Because one day it will be no more
And it will slip away in your life.
© Muhammad Abdulhamid kumo
Categories:
thatches, hyperbole,
Form: Didactic
The hoi polloi were inquisitive of pelting
Forage famine and began to shrivelling
Drought blanket and upon the entire bush
The thatches restored ramshackle to meagre
And starvation startling the crofters.
In the season they'd all crowned;than ago
And sentenced to less drought by words
Soon set out beside huts and encountered
To the Deity,for a blissful impeachment
And for Him to shadow them with pelting.
Colour yet for speed twenty beseeches
Which should-less bigotry retired
Though, extroverts gallantry shelves frequently
Rosy,Giver retorted it to them:not for bigotry...
And worthwhile them with the parabolic season.
Categories:
thatches, absence, allah,
Form: Free verse
One thousand naira
For one thousand dreams
One thousand hopes
Punctured by one thousand spears
For one thousand naira
One thousand faces
Queued up in one thousand war-ds
For one thousand reasons
One thousand holes grace our thatch-full thatches
Where endless rain and peeping sun cuddle our tattered
mats
One thousands holes rest upon our busy roads
Where we trade and death raids
One thousand naira
For another thousand pains?
Or
One thousand changes?
They've paid
We've bought
Categories:
thatches, beautiful,
Form: Lyric
Spring is on the distant horizon, another month has gone, now just a memory
Seasons flow seamlessly, path's of time seem faster, now in my golden years
The month of March is vigorous and piping, the month of new life in nature,
The coldness of our winter very gently fades, birds sing high in the trees,
But beware of gales as they rush through our woods, over meadows and glades.
The wild wrath of winter eases, March winds are fast, chasing the cold away,
Branches bend and groan, dead wood falls, ruining thatches and old buildings,
The wind bites but wild flowers spring from black soil in meadows and glades,
Measure the difference of the solemn fitfulness's of autumn, and March winds
As People gingerly look out on mild days time to begin work in their gardens.
The last days of February sees the frost less severe, the slushy snow melting,
All in keeping with ancient character the month is wet from thaw and dampness,
A time for floods as snows melt, rain and sleet pours, this is our wet season,
There is movement in the woods, leas and the forests nature starts to wake up,
Now as sap is stirring in trees, buds begin to show green on bushes and boughs.
Categories:
thatches, nature, time, winter, march,
Form: Prose Poetry
By Ombuge Moses
The river is dry
Plant weathered
Dry for wood
Wood for fire
The ground dusty
Bear feet women weak
Children loud cry
Wail in pain
Music has stopped
Dance no more
Rhythmic lost
The animal is carcass
Dead bonny no meat
Birds try walk
Fly is difficult
Dust in the eye
Ear too deaf
The wings no flap
Flap no flip
The strength is gone
The ground burning
The wind too hot
The rhythm is new
Dust in the eye
Shed under tree
In blanket men sleep
Covered to head
The strength is gone
Wood in plenty
Food not to find
Cooking is history
In books to write
Plate in plenty
Metallic is best
Awaits the food
Dust in the eye
Painful to the eye
The people suffer
My village is home
Home to thatches
Home that houses
Houses of a problems
The river is dry
The strength is gone
Dust in the eye
Birds try walking
Categories:
thatches, art, mystery, peace, river,
Form: Lyric
TIME FOR A VACATION
It is my wife’s lifelong dream, a fairytale place a magic land :
The small village of Rye in Sussex , in southern England.
This is the heart of England, its bosom -
Filled with peaceful smells of blossom :
Like a Dickens scene on christmas cards -
Steep streets with cobblestones - no cars.
Smoking chimneys, bow windows, roofs with thatches,
Hanging baskets of alyssum and lobelia in batches -
Her favorite colours white and dark blue:
I wanted to make her dream come true.
Tea and hot crumpets and warm butter oozing
By the fire in the sitting room with grandad snoozing
At four o’ clock by the chimes of the grandfather
Clock which fascinates - it’s like theatre to her.
Soft beds you sink into deeper and deeper;
Little bedrooms with floral wallpaper
She’s only seen in movies about Sherlock Holmes;
And small windows recalling our childhood homes.
We feel at ease, content like birds flown home to their loft.
View to cherry orchard trees in blossom soft
And to France on the distant sea horizon:
She gazes and thinks and daydreams on and on.
Categories:
thatches, holiday
Form: Couplet
There is nothing more gladdening
Than sorrow at parting-leaving the villege
Though my loosening mat i'll miss
No more owl or the snake hiss
In the jungle greenery resides
Thatches on our house cools the ray
Of the sun like a pair of scissors
Cutting the blanket of dawn from the sky
Such sorrow is;that i shall say goodbye
yet,i smell a happier tommorrow-off to the city
Categories:
thatches, adventure, happiness, hope,
Form: Monorhyme