LETTING LIFE BE NOT LIVED IN VAIN
Know that the righteous life you’ve been living,
Has not and could have never been lived in vain:
You’ve trekked shadowed valleys of ole death;
You’ve mastered many bridges of troubled waters;
You’ve conquered so many Sisyphus-like rocks;
And God has and never ever allowed you to fail:-
Thus, in the deemed storms ahead, fear no evils;
Just shift faith’s undying spirit of hope into high gear;
Turn on those ever splashing wipers—wiping out doubt.
And with divine wisdom and guidance, continue sojourning,
Continue in your humble labors of love you’ve been assigned;
And at journey’s end, be in thanksgiving grace for a vainless life:-
My dear Mama, oh so dear,
A mother true, always near.
From childhood's dawn till present day,
You guided us, showed the way.
With "Sugar Boy" by your side,
Together you led, with love and pride.
To "Oko Eti-ose" and "Oko Okuku" farms,
We trekked, with loaded arms.
The roads were long, the loads were heavy,
I cried, but you helped me be brave.
Coming home, with weary feet,
You soothed my tears, made our hearts meet.
With meager pay, as teacher true,
You and "Sugar Boy" saw us through.
Education's doors, you opened wide,
Degrees acquired, our futures inside.
In pain, you helped; in need, you gave,
Ensuring food, a roof to save.
Your partnership, a shining light,
Taught me teamwork, day and night.
You and Papa, a perfect pair,
United, selfless, beyond compare.
No difference, in love and care,
You both showed us, how to share.
May your days be long and bright,
Filled with joy, love's warm light.
We recognize, your sacrifices grand,
Thank you, dear Mama, hand in hand.
I walked the starry streets at night
Searching for words to describe you
Which bore no darkness but light
Words never heard by dew
I tried to listen to angels whisper
So I stand vigilant all day and night
Hidden under scented flowers
But nothing new landed on my sight
I swam the oceans and climbed the mountains
Trekked ten million miles to meet the sage
To the underworld and those who reigns
And the aliens land inside a cave
Men never knew such a beauty would exist
So, a name to describe you wasn't announced
Now I declare what that name is
But that sacred word, I can't pronounce
I journey in thoughts in breathless strolls
every turn straightened, and bumps made smooth
my life whose trust in God, faith controls
pass sparked eyes, climbed smiles, the wealth of souls
perks in life that gift my heart and soothe
Be the stills of the night that shades day
the noontime of Spring and Summer Eve
and Autumn colors having their weigh
to impress snowflakes, window display
roam throughout my blest years I achieve
At work, everything is play by play
but I shake and bake, easy as pie
friends for lunch at a sidewalk cafe
at the church, had communion and pray
then trekked home, smiling that satisfy
The internal spirit externals
the facts of my life great from the start
each passing day juices my kernels
joy jogged entries, my daily journals
when my life part, find me in your heart.
I watched a dog sweep across the land where no man stands;
So delicate in his every step—
He manoeuvred across it with a strange familiarity:
The mud to him was not a problem,
Though it clung to his feet like it was trying to drag him deep down.
He lifted his nose into the air to sniff the scent of death,
And trekked over lumps and bumps to find where a cold man lay.
He was half-enveloped already—
The living, breathing mud having started to swallow him whole—
Even the dog was able to tell his fate:
His breathing was quiet and he laid so eerily still; like a ghost.
Anything done now was too little too late.
So the dog, empathetic in its very being, lay down at his side,
To comfort him as he said his final prayers.
The dog let the man stroke him, watching (with fixed intent)
The shaky rise and fall of his chest—waiting for death.
Soon the blood exiting his pale body began to slow,
And the dog knew it was over. His job was done.
He had offered the one thing he could in his primitive being: mercy.
To a scared and lonely man, in the final moments
Of his short life.
He began a voyage to a land afar,
But on every step in his journey, he shrunk.
He wanted to go to a far distant star,
But soon diminished to the size of a skunk.
He climbed up on a slippery curtain rod,
Now just the width and breadth of a dappled mouse.
He slid off the rod into the hair of a dog
Who skipped and danced all the way out of the house.
He got smaller yet and befriended a flea
Who said, “sail the green sea to a secret land
Where creatures are much smaller than you can see,
And a million can live on a grain of sand.”
So, he then disappeared, getting smaller still,
And trekked through a forest of golden and brown,
And followed a twisty, turny trail until
He came to a window on the gate to a town.
The hinged portal opened, and a head popped out.
‘Twas an atom sized, gay and puppetty dog
Who hailed him, as a fish on a water spout
Said, “please sit down by this cranberry bog.”
A boy, from his sack, gave him a magic bean,
Which he put inside a stained-glass rainbow jar,
And got so small he was only again seen
As a gold ray of light from a distant star.
There's a journey that we all must take,
Where time and space are clearly fake.
When painful steps are trekked again,
While going back, as if only to begin.
The threshold crossed can't be seen by most,
As it borders imagination, from coast to coast.
This trail is carried by only memory to its map,
Since traveled rarely by others that avoid the trap.
So it becomes a solitary journey, being naked and alone,
Where you can see all the warning signs ...
and cast the first stone.
I have been here, I’ve been there,
over yonder up and down.
Been back home and been long gone,
been nowhere but been around.
I’ve traveled for a far piece,
just a hop, skip and a jump.
I climbed clear up to the top,
hit rock bottom with a thump.
I’ve journeyed and I’ve traversed,
arrived here and went that way.
Headed out, trekked, and jetted,
fixin’ to go there someday.
Went when the Spirit moved me,
only if the creek don’t rise.
I’ll head out your way sometime,
if I make it be surprised.
I’ve voyaged, gadded about,
tramped, stomped, and drifted around.
Been where the sun did not shine,
just the other side of town.
I’ve flown over the rainbow,
the other side of the track.
I’ve crossed against the traffic,
walked away and not looked back.
Always marched to my own drum,
I’ve strolled down the avenue.
Danced, pranced, and pirouetted,
I’ve had nothing left to lose.
Where I’m bound, where I’m going,
don’t ask me ‘cause I can’t tell.
Some say I’m bound for Heaven,
others swear it’s straight to Hell.
I’ve never climbed a mountain
Or gone up in a balloon
And if I never scuba dive,
Well, that will be too soon.
I’ve never rafted rapids,
Para-sailed or water-skied
And as for jumping off a cliff,
I just don’t see the need.
I’ve not trekked in the arctic
Or safaried with a guide
And if I said I wasn’t scared
Of all these things, I lied.
I marvel at adventurers;
They’re made of stronger stuff.
To read about or watch their exploits
Is, to me, enough.
Oh yes!
It's a trekked year—
As the lonely part bled to tear,
The wordless lane gripped my fear
Like a toddler who felt his mum left the dark room.
So Credit!
The day my cohorts for years
Left to face their arrears—
We sang and danced with cheers,
Carrying the thought, 'when is it again?'
After that!
None to say I host,
Everyone faces the royal coast
Just like a broken window
Our minds free the emotion flow.
I'm alive today!
My day is my dear,
Applauds to who were always there
This time is content of cheer
Spreading like a moving breeze.
April was the koolest month
we walked in the green uprising,
to gather berries,
would eat them as we trekked
the crunching woods.
It was1999 and the sky was clear
for months after;
we had time to can the berries
and preserve them.
Thus when the TV conjectured
the possibility of a global plague
all the channels began to
reprogram themselves;
to electronically dream-up
the year 2020 into our reality.
We had to look away from the screen,
had to ponder our relationship
if perhaps one day
one of us ever went missing.
In a recycling pantomime of motion,
we watched the untimely dying
being pushed on gurneys
out into the deserted streets.
Later we trashed all the uneaten berries
scrubbing our hands
as if they would be forever stained.
The volcano leveled
then a great wind blew the rest away.
Early humans came late.
They had callused soles and rough hands
they knew how to dig,
run and hide.
When the flood came
they were at ease feasting on stringy meat and bones
in the makeshift camps of their tribes.
The locust eating priests
declared it was everyone's fault
but theirs.
Contrite, and greatly diminished in number
they began to scratch the history of the world
on random stones.
Volcanos grew testy again
smoke and fiery fumes scorched the sky.
They packed up their meager possessions
and trekked. The tribes did not stop walking
until they found a lost scripture in the dust.
Some called the find a bible
written by soothsayers
yet unborn,
but in truth
it was yet another mystical footprint
to follow -
a sign to track
out of this inexplicable land
that kept blowing away
on the shifting sands
of bad times.
A baby's birth, a tale to tell,
Of a day when riots rocked the land.
Hoodlums and fire, chaos befell,
As Nasya's arrival was at hand.
Her mother, anxious, in labour pain,
With fear for her life and the baby's too.
To the hospital, she did remain,
But the journey there, a dangerous road to pursue.
The gas station burned beside the place,
Where doctors would bring life to the earth.
But transportation gone without a trace,
So they trekked, with their medical gear's worth.
No baby food to nourish the child,
In a world so filled with strife.
Yet the doctors worked, with hearts so mild,
And brought Nasya safely into life.
A story of love and hope untold,
In a time when chaos rules the day.
A mother's strength, a baby's hold,
A reminder that peace will come someday.
THE REBEL ARTIST Why do you paint pictures of silent days?, Lonely roads, lonely streets; of beggars groping their way, holding hands to each other, making beggarly music to awake crushed passions. Is this your country? Once flowing with milk and honey! Now a beggar, begging from those he once fed! Independence Day? In those days, we trekked far from hinterlands to freedom square, expectations high against odds to receive golden salutes from heroes past...Those days of innocence, when civilization slapped us in the face...when euphoria of this treacherous sovereignty beclouded us not to see this end that comes... Why, Rebellious Artist, why do you paint pictures of baby-strapped women saddled with loads, why images of riotous youths, corpse-Iittered streets. Paint pictures of these green-white flowers, adorning our great country. Paint him, our man, the president. Oh! It was beauty last night glistening all over the Aerodrome as he beaded farewell to his countrymen, boarding the air to Saudi Arabia!
I go from positive plus to in the basement negative in forty minutes.
I thought it was going to be okay when Cyrus hugged my legs.
He had a huge grin on his face, he acted like he loved me.
We went to recess. He was a train wreck but gave him many chances.
Easier than trying to corral him because if I tried that I would lose face.
No one can corral him.
I am practically carrying him back inside where he….
Throws scissors, spits in faces, yells and runs around the room.
I feel like I have trekked a mountain and ran a marathon.
It is truly taxing that one child can do this in a mere forty minutes!
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