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Best Poems Written by Wilson Oshorakpor

Below are the all-time best Wilson Oshorakpor poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

Heroes and Rogues

Yesterday,
The sky was arrogant;
Arrogant with hope,
Spread like bush fire,
By heroes,
Rogues so called,
Who fought cannons, 
To set us free,
Free from chains of colonialism.

Today,
The sky darkens;
Darkens with frustrations,
Set deep in dark furrows,
By rogues,
Heroes so called,
Who fight with cannons,
To keep us impoverished,
Impoverished in the grip of democracy.

Tomorrow,
Who knows?
But time will tell,
The heroes from the rogues.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

I am here!
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Are you there? 
I am the Shepherd of heaven's flock,
The door of your heart, please unlock.

I am here! 
At the door of your heart, I knock.
Hear my voice, I am here, so near,
The door of your heart, please unlock,
And let our two hearts as one lock.

Where are you?
Turn the knob, snob me not,
Sup with me and I'll sup with you,
The table of your heart, the spot,
Come, dine with the living brot. 

And there you are.
O what a cold old heart thou art!
The dainty delicacies of sin you store and share,
Is the devil's death knell for a fleshy heart.
There's death in the pot you serve, depart.

I have come, come let's dine,
Eat my flesh, drink my blood, eat and live.
My flesh is meat. My blood is fine wine,
Ignite the hearth in your heart, keep the fire alive.
Eat and drink the living word, eat and live.

I am here!
In your heart to forever stay,
The deadly dainty delicacies of sin eat no more.
The hot pot of the word, eat night and day,
Our hearts together locked as one in heaven's way.

By Oshorakpor Wilson. 
Adapted from Revelation 3:20.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

One Flesh

ONE FLESH

My father and mother I leave,
Unto you I cleave,
Until one twine we weave,
And one flesh achieve.

This vow I make with love,
Sealed with this book from above,
This day have I sold,
My heart to you to hold.

Dreams of endless bliss,
Nights, like one long kiss;
Oh my love! My love glows,
Like streams, where joy flows.

Frayed with time, the edges may be;
A few knots here and there,
But this cord strong shall be;
The core, a mine of diamonds rare.

Thorns and thistle now spring,
Itching under my golden ring,
Cares and caresses ebbing away,
Tears and fears a trickle a day.

The place of my vow still I stand,
Our hearts a cord of endless strand,
This garden, we’ll tenderly tend;
Until we gather every thistle and thorn.

Oh my love! You’re mine to hold,
My goods; though few, are to you sworn;
Your smile is my heart’s gold,
And when you say, I love you; I swoon.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

My Father, My Father

Among many fathers is one,
Whose blood flows in mine alone.
In your genes is my life's code encoded,
Forever etched and recorded,
My father, my father, forever my father.
From the cradle, a love cuddle;
Your strong arms me a bundle,
Your arms wrap me like a warm wrapper
And for a moment, mum was a non-member,
Our hearts lock in a fond bond,
So profound, no where else is found,
But in a father-child embrace,
My father, my father, forever my father.
In my 'pampers' you pampered me,
In my turbulent teens, your ferocious frown
Scared the devil out of my own town;
Your love, sometimes carrots, sometimes sticks,
Carried me through the darkest shadows of youth,
To the bright lights of greatness,
A cuddle here, a lashing there kept me straight
A prayer here, a bashing there, kept me aright
My father, my father, forever my father.
When the night comes,
When the wrinkles gather,
When the light in your eyes dims,
And your strong arms hang, 
When your praying knees buckle,
And on three legs you stand,
May our heavenly Father in heaven help me stand,
Help me not to forget your sacrifices,
Help me not to forget your prayers,
My father, my father, forever you are my father.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

Murder of Africa

MURDER OF AFRICA

Mother,
Mother of the black race,
Behold your children,
Dead and dying,
Not even a broken hope,
Can their withered hands grope?

Mother, 
Mother of Africa,
See your children.
Scattered and tattered,
Refugees in their ancestral tomb,
Where dreams die in the womb.

Mother,
Mother of the black race,
Hear your children,
Weeping and wailing,
Tears for jagged stumps,
Hope mined with mortal bombs.

Mother,
Mother of black Africa,
See your children,
Blind and bland,
Ignorant tutored touts,
Who steal from hungry mouths.

Mother,
Mother of the black race,
Behold your children,
Wanton and wicked,
Not even a beggar’s stare,
Can wrest a rusted coin,
From their looted bullion.


Murder!
Murder of our vision,
Brother against brother,
Wealthy against wretched,
Saints against sinners,
Fear’s fermenting yeast,
Brewing a bunch of belching beasts.

Murder! 
Murder of our dreams,
Boiling blood across the landscape,
Frothing from war ravaged tribes,
To rivers infested with corpses,
To farmlands turned cemeteries,
Where plough and ploughshare rust.

Murderers!
Mother arise,
Strike them!
With pestle and pestilence,
Those kith and kin,
Who tighten the hangman’s rope,
Around our collective hope.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

PROCRASTINATION

I can be better than I am,
But Yesterday keeps pulling me back.
Tomorrow whispers hope in my ears,
But today, I do nothing.

Tomorrow has not come,
Yesterday flew by like a dream,
Today is here  waiting for me,
But I keep thinking of tomorrow.

Yesterday, was today yesterday;
Tomorrow will be today, tomorrow.
Today is today, today.
Why am I waiting for tomorrow?

Yesterday died, when today was born.
Tomorrow is in the womb of today, 
Waiting to cross the midnight hour,
Time cannot wait, neither should I.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

In the Midst of Time

In the midst of timeless time, I stand;
But still, she does not stand,
Elegantly moving, tick tock, tick tock, all day,
The price of delay, too heavy to pay.

Millenniums tick by like ponderous dinosaurs,
Time never blinks, always ticking and tocking,
Centuries come, centuries go; no scaurs,
To tell the tale of an ancient king.

Decades tumble upon others,
Years like yesterday roll by,
Months and days tuck arms together like brothers,
Time in a rush, no time to say goodbye.

By the hours, time revs up speed,
Minutes not enough to run,
With frantic fingers, seconds arms feed,
The last of time allocated and moves on.

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HOLY ANGER

God, in vengeance is jealous.
God, in vengeance is furious.
On the table of his foes vengeance is served,
For his enemies, his wrath is reserved.

Slow in anger,
Great in power,
He acquits not the wicked,
The guilty does not go unpunished.

The whirlwind and storm dance in his hand,
The proud clouds at his feet like dust gather.
The seas and rivers run dry at his command
And lush pastures of blooming flowers wither.

In his presence, mountains shake,
Haughty high hills crumble,
In his presence, earth's heartlands quake,
All spirits, flesh and blood tremble.

Before his fierce anger, none can stand;
He pours out his fury like a flaming fire,
His blazing anger none can withstand,
Aged mountains mourn and crumble to dust in his ire.

Into deep darkness, he pursues his foes;
In furious floods, he sweeps away his enemies.
Like drunken drunkards, they stagger; turning and turning and turning,
Entangled among dry thorns afire, burning and burning and burning.

Details | Wilson Oshorakpor Poem

One in All

Grace, to all is given, a measure;
Faith, to all creatures a sure measure.
One hope, one spirit, one body we all are.
One faith, one baptism, one Lord we all share,
All in one, one in all.

Talent, to all is given, a measure;
Life, to all creatures a sure measure.
One God we all have, the Father we call;
Above all, through all and in all,
One in all, all in one.

In Christ we all live. 
In him we all move. 
In him we all have our being,
Without him, we are nothing,
All in one, one in all.

All, who in him sleep;
Shall all together in him leap,
At the last trumpet sound,
All together heaven bound,
One in all, all in one.