A Windy Tale

There are nights that the world stays calm
Quiet, silent not even a time of wink or snare
A time, poets stay alone in thought
Wondering what others see as absurd
Unnecessary, awful and undeserved
The lines read in the mind
Draws a quieter person
Turns the mind to a great arena,
A giant field of several thoughts
And shrinks the world to a stage
The loneliness as felt in this times
Overthrows all known thought, grieve, pain
Even sorrows encountered
Brings live to the unliving
Paints a world of beauty
Chalked in the mind, only
Traversing the length of the universe
From a seat, in a little hut
The nights that a soul seemed for love
Attention, care, petting, companionship
Hearing lovers joke outside the window
Feeling the worlds emptiness alone
Trying much to see in dark rooms
Giving life again, to inanimate issues
But then love flows in this heart
Just that everyone were busy to see it
Nobody to look thru the grey eyes
To see the unworded pleadings of the heart
Never to understand the silent nod
The earth lives on
If love wasn’t shown
It cannot be seen
The night is cold
Not for the wind
Per se, but for this loneliness
The nights are rare,
Such a night as this

Oiroegbu Halls


A run in the rain

The clouds are crying
The lines of silver
Wash off the dark clouds
There was no moon today
No stars either
Just I and nature
The pattering bash on my head
On this night
I was naked as I came
The raindrops beat me
In a soothing understanding
The colds ate into my flesh
Grasping shivers in the deep bones
A home of my raging fury
A home of my boiling poetry
The dreams I always want
The happiness I crave
The joys of playing with Mother Nature
The hope of another drop
of another better day
The conquests of Mother Nature
Like a fish roaming
The deep blues of the Ocean floors
The rains washing away the guilt
Running through all my body lines
The nature I’ve never known

Remembrance of the month August.

Oiroegbu Halls


A bright morning in December

Wake up
Walk up to the window side
Watch the golden sun rise
Majestically from the East
Feel the morning airs
Swooshing thru the yellow fields
Feel the heat of mother Nature
The warmth that gives life
Look around, look out for the birds
Migrating and home comers
It is bright morning
It’s a nice day to love


The Moons Tale

Tonight we sit under the moons light
She gave her torch for all to see
From dark houses, or from the seats
Beneath the huge trees in the hamlet
The moons light always came with soft airs
Mild, enticing, strangely something Divine
Then the noises of children playing
Rent the air, yelling, wailing infants
The clouds are patched in different hues
Some dark blue others just black
A little farther away, laughter bursts out
Drawing careless attention, men drinking rum
Some already drunk, looking for their way home
But the kids care less
But then they must have a good laugh
The laugh was for them; palm wine drunks
With the nights moon light plays
First the little boys wrestle under the watch
Of a younger adult, a male who sat on a palm frond seat
The various teams call out to sweating wrestlers
‘Grab him, Beat him, throw him, kill him!’
But there was no killing, just an infant mock fight
The arm wrestling ends when one boy falls
And a shout of triumph rents the air
Then the boys and girls try their strength
On a fierce tug of war
Always, the boys win,
Then comes the oldest granny in the hamlet
Led by two younger adults
Slowly she walked, minding her steps
Watching the gathering of children
As all settle in a sudden, to hear the tale
Perhaps a tale of the Giraffe
And how he mysteriously ate the moon half
Meanwhile the airs blow, crickets quiz
The owl hoot from a far distance
And the moon still shone brightly
Waiting to hear the tale also


Who I love

Oh I am in love
Your grapes gave me wine
Your love gave me life
It is at your table I dine

I stand at the foot of a hill
Watching the setting sun
Near the busy oil palm mill
I see women, their quarry burn

The road to the stream
Are littered with fallen leaves
A young fish pleasantly swim
In rehearsed circles it weaves

A group of rocks stand before me
Sweet how the nearby flowers smell
To see the long hidden treasuries
Of all luxurious flora, the Rose, Honeywell

Have you seen the sun rise
From a grassland near a cliff?
Do you think Nature is wise?
Can you then tell me who I love?


The Messenger


Kokookoroko kokorokoro
A greeting called from afar
The children ran out excited
As if the message was for them
But then who knows?
Heads up, listen attentively
Komkom korookom
Another beat rang out
Pushing the mild hit
Into the ears of even the heaviest village sleeper
‘Oh how cute, it is one of the Kings messengers’
‘A tall and fine one for that matter’
A group of young women chatter

The morning of a market day
Even before the sun sets on his journey
The gong goes before the man
A metal gong tells the whole clan
The tidings of the hamlet
The days not to visit the rivulet
The day to farm the deep forest
And when a service the King request
The boxing day, a revengeful day
The long brooms stalked away
Up the roof barns where fishes are smoked
And the wielder showing teeth tobacco soiled

Learn Igbo language here.

When the messenger comes
Mama will always say
To bright little ones
‘Listen attentively, listen with your ears
They might have a message for you or you
From the king or the brave hunters
Come from across the seven hills
And the seven rivers of Far Away Land
So you must listen and attentively
There must be wisdom in every muttering’

Then each time it all comes to me
Even now I on my face keep hairs
I still listen when all is quiet
And then goes Krookoko kom kom!


Musing: Strange Loneliness

One creaky windy night,
By the house near the riverside
Stood a tree, solemn and queer
Standing like a sword wielding knight
Posing to take a decisive blow
Bending on strange parts, different
The branches full of green algae,
Stood like the muscles of Hercules
And its rough body smeared with sap
Patches of a thousand different hue
Decorate the trees huge body
Few leaves hang around it
No flower, no seed, no not a fruit
Perhaps no thought of making any
All wonder what tree stays so gay
Glaring alone up to the mild sky
Enjoying the thrill of loneliness
The roots crisscross like a woven basket
A safe haven for sinister cronies
The grasses around it are heavy thorns
A barge of poison mushrooms groom
And tender their young beneath the tree roots
All about a gross sight it was
The neighbors say the tree was a spirit
That it laughed in some nights
A self amusing sort of merriment
The echoes of such laughter
In stir in people a mood of fear
An unwholesome mood to stay away
From all the beauty living in others
Insecurity, uncertainty, self rejection- oh fear
Not wanting any touch of others lives
Perhaps maybe the tree shall repent
And then the sweet goodness of others
May find its bosom worthy of abode


Back from traveling

All the while I sat on a bus
My mind was already with you
Dreaming all I could see
When I arrive to your embrace

Oh beautiful tree
Standing solemnly outside
By my room window
Waving her green leaves
When the Night comes with her breeze
Making melody for me
Singing a cool lullaby
But then something I feel is missing
Little cricket where you at?
Come, come closer to me
I am harmless, yes you know
Crawl up my arm, sit, comfort yourself
Oh please come sing a song
Let me hear again your croaky voice
How deep it has become
Tell me all you did,
When I was far far away
I missed you all, much
The tree waving outside
This moonless night
And my little Cricket friend
Which sings from somewhere
In a crack near my bed

Oiroegbu Halls


Help me get there!

Dear poetry friend and family.

I was shortlisted for a poetry contest in Nigeria. I seek your support and help by reading, voting(by sharing the poem on your Fbk or twitter) and asking your friends to share the poem. I need to make this poetic breakthrough, I need your support.

Thanks and God bless you.

Here is the link: Okechukwu Iroegbu K – Aba via @awanaija


A Lonely Dream

There’s a star
Lookin’ lonely and hapless
It looked even more prettier alone
I saw it from the bed
When I pushed the curtain to a side
Tis cold and moonless night
It was shiverin’
Or maybe I thought it was
Just under my bed
I heard a cricket shriek
Maybe he was mad at somethin’
I never cared to bother a cricket
I felt a streak of cold touch
Then another merciless shriek
We were all lonely
And it was madly cold out there
I, the cricket and this star
Study Questions.
1, What do you think is the theme?
2. Give instances of the use of Metaphor


A tale of the Wind

The stars are glittering this evening
Showing their white shining teeth
Baring the light that twinkle once upon a minute
The window curtains dance to the tune
Played by the passing romantic air
The wind plays a calm flute, a lyric
Which the whole clan hears and listens
The forest dwellers, the hamlet and town
Even the toddlers feel the balmy air
The wild cricket quiz himself,
‘Oh I dream, I say I dream a lot, but
From whence cometh this sweet strange maiden wind
That telleth my heart to jump though I seeth but the sea before me?’
The cricket clan would yell with laughter
Beating their small bodies, head, abdomen
The lilies popping their head about
Swerving to see he, who dares to woo the Air
Wondering all that could be beautiful
This evening the bats flew around
Like a circus carved up, in between the sky
Flopping the leather wings as they play
The Owl makes merry from her hooting
All the evening magic comes alive
The fireflies move in echelon,
Lighting the skies with all hues
A picture of something like a mans heart
Emboldened upon the quiet darkness
The train of different colored caterpillars
Crawling the trees in a marathon
With all cheering, jeering
The world of pure and hidden ecstasy
Revealed upon the quiet neighborhood
With the stars shining gleefully, majestically


Tonights Wishes

How light I feel tonight
I have been fighting myself
Asking rhetorics, muttering about
Where things got wrong
Muddled even to believe
That our love is no more
Praying silently, lips moving
With teary eyes I stood
Peering at a lonely partridge
Plucking the seeds of a tree
The love I had for you
The names of many tales I told
On the nights we sat at the window side
Letting the wind touch us
And feeding our eyes on the moon
The nights we danced under the tree shed
Folding our arms in strange dances
Stopping now and then, laughing
The sweet dreams you told of,
After each night you lay in my arms
I wonder why we lost it all now
The feathery fingers that sooth me
The hairs I pull, with your tired sleepy eyes
And your breath when we faced each other
Oh how love is easy to go
I had kept all pain apart
Trying to get to you
The tales are ready
My fingers await your hair
The moon is out here
The wind is all calm and breezy
I only sit here, muttering to myself
Let the winds sing again
And I shall never cry again


Cold Harmattan


If there comes a knock on the door
Don’t be in a hurry to answer
For there goes a strong wind
Rushing about the dry cloud
A very strange bust of air
Roaming the streets, the fields
Pulling leaves, and sand along
Dancing on the pathway leading to the hamlet
Painting faces with all white patches
Taking the dampness off the Earth
Drying the laundry that hung outside
Cracking the nuts under the tree
It is very awful, how fast it goes
The roads are all red brown
The shrubs and grasses loose vitality
The white colored huts are repainted
Oh but through the generosity
Of the cold blowing Harmattan
Come from the North,
Bringing tides of sand, dust
From the serene Sahara desert

Oiroegbu Halls


The Seeker


I see a golden ray
Giving light from afar
Up the lonely road
Near the cliffs edge
Where the leaves fall in circles
Caring about nothing
As they fall, happily
And the skies not to be seen
But a sieve of the suns light
Falling thru the waving trees
Now and then,
The rodents of the trees
Curious to know the passerby
Rush about the tree branches
Enjoying the damp dark nest
Which surround the forest
Playing the hide and seek
Wondering what the passerby seeks,
The road is quiet
Made of ten thousand layers
Of fallen leaves piled up
One and two on another
The yellow leaf cares not
If it falls, lays on a red leaf
It is a circle of life
A painting learnt in life

But here I seek the way,
Through this enchanted forest
Blessed, but I like to see the sun light

Oiroegbu Halls


The way

Love stands watching,
With eyes deep red
Tears running down
As a stream on a slope
Wetting the land on its rush
A clear spring water
But then no one to drink
For men thirst not again

There’s a land full of sorrow
Strife, hunger, riot and war
The world knows no peace
We hate each other
But we need each other
Let’s build the Earth together
Throw the differences up
And let the birds carry them
Burn all pain, water the deserts
Ski the mountains and farm the dunes
Recover the wetlands, fight droughts
Plant trees, and live greener lifes
Feed the strengthless, give all hope

Forget my name or origin
Just love me, cos I love you too
Let love reign, always


Musing: my mood

The love I have
I can’t really tell
The wind blows
The trees dance
The flicker of hope
Dwelling in me hops
In my heart, lives joy
Seeing the clouds white
And the sun shine
Hearing from the Egrets
And the mooing cattle
Sitting amidst my street kids
Playing soccer in the fields
And waking up to see you,
To think of you, loved one
Walking under the tree shed
Excites me, changes my mood
I dream of an island
Pebble-full, white shores
With an untamed forest
And a mild sun ahead of me
My curious glare knows no bounds
I feel the silent burden of the ants
The strange nods of a lizard
The thunderclaps excites me
The lions roar frights me
The trees tell their tale
I mustn’t let this gift pass by
There’s much to mother nature
She teaches in subtle ways
But we must learn, I know
The Earth is not dead yet
All things tell tales, yes
The singing wind, the swooshing Oak
The buzzing beetle, a wailing infant
And a flying bird across a waterfall
There’s joy in me,
There’s love also in me
I just don’t know why


Musing: Dear Diary

Dear diary,

This cold morning
I sit on my bed
Near the glass window
Staring sleepily up, at the fan
Though the fan stood still
I do not understand why I stare
The dry air had come
It had sucked up, all moisture
All the liquid here
I stare up, aye
Cos I am deep in thought
Thought of something abstract
I can’t even explain what
But thinking I must do
Maybe, it could be Xmas
The coming holidays, and exams
I marvel, but I am not scared
The hassles of travelling home
On roads filled with dust
Oh the air has taken all the moist
And it can be seen all over me
My skin, my legs and the face
These beards that stand on me
Which I resolved to keep
For nothing sake, perhaps for once craziness
I knew not from whence
This laziness came,
I can see even some warmth coming
The clouds are separating, up there
The sun is about to rise
And when she lights the horizon
And the grey fields with its gold
I shall endeavor to rise with her


Musing: my Poetry

Strange if we may ask
Have you ever fallen in love,
To see the beauty in what you do?
The light in my heart
Comes from painting poetry
The Lord had given me this
And I shall not let go

Oh poetry my dearest
My very heart throb
The smiles you bring to me,
I am yet to understand
The moments I raise thee dear pen
And the free flow of desire
Scribbled down everywhere, barks, sands
The joys that fill this heart
The hope, the grace that comes
The ecstasy of poetry itself
Rushing in haste down to my fingertips
To a sacred place, my home
A niche, a sanctuary, my citadel,
Home of my raging musings
Blessed it is to know poetry!
The palm oil with which
We eat our smoked yams
The love of my heart
A Divine gift given to me,
And I here tonight
Peering hopefully up the clouds
Besides a sea of people
Dancing about a hot bonfire
Wishing for a shooing star
To send my greetings up
To Thee maker of man and poetry
I thank Thee Lord again
For making me part of this
And for the poetry which stays in me


Ovim, my homeland

To Thee My homeland
My mothers birthplace
The land of the brave
Ovim- land of strength

What baffles me most,
Through this bewildered mind
The uncertainty of what
Must be thought and said
Is the serenity about thee
I speak of you with pride
With love, with joy
Thee Ovim, my Father land
A beauty to behold
The land of the rising sun
With all enchanted forests
And always a proud cloud
And some wonderful trees
The Cashew, the mighty Iroko
Thy children are wonderful
They are strong, they till the land
And the women are nice
Everywhere there are smiles
Trees, hills, streams and wildlife
The blue skies stay above thee
And all birds love to play on them
From the hamlets in Obilohia
Comes the laugh of the hyena
On Nights ferocious character
The hunters prowl about in search
Of straying rodents and wild cattle
And when home, bring along quarries
Some alive, others ready for the pot
But then, the mornings are never boring
Goats bleat, the kids yell greetings
And the leaves of the bushes
Wave and hustle about in the wind
The heights of the hills, ranges
And the people of the hills
The vegetation, all scenic, beautiful
Indeed you are one lovely land
The rocks by the streamside
Sit majestically, unperturbed
And the mark of the fallen fish
Which stands on the rock today
Beats witness of thy blessedness
The bamboos are all about thee
Many reptiles call you home
Oh the masquerades of the spirits
Learning to run after a prey
On the arenas of excitement
Tell me, why are the Cat fishes
Sacred and never to be killed
Traditions, culture, my precious homeland!
The elders tell tales on moon nights
The Tortoise, his clan and his tricks
The children dance under the tree
And a game is played on the sand
If the palm wine tapper leaves home
Oh surely, let there be some wine!
And when I sneak in to listen
To the wisdom of the elderly,
Breaking the kola, speaking into life
And blessing the hands that gives
With prayers of the land
I see how I have loved thee

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The Harmattan

In the morning before tea
With natures best company,
Trees, shrubs and rodents
The warm air sifts about
Like the whistling Nightingale
Singing to the red Rose

Now, the doors of the tent
Must be opened for the airs
Which comes with dried lips
Which the kids lick all day
Faces crack, voices deepen more
Young, old, rich, poor,
The Harmattan bullies all
Pushing our clothes up the sky
Throwing dust and sand into our eyes
And all the while grinning,
Laughing at embarrassed faces

If you could listen, attentively
The Pines sing of it
With the strange looking Porcupine
Dancing to the melodic tune
The winds of the Harmattan
Shoves around the corner
Minding not both beast and man
Bringing dews in the morning
And dusts in the evenings
Even, the nights become cold

The heart wrenching shriek of the Wolf
From afar, at the back of the towns hills
The green snakes which lives
In the farms behind the house
The birds scaling the wind
Up the ever blue skies
The sweat and grunts of the man
Pounding the yam in the hamlets
But all knows,
The Harmattan bullies all
Not minding beast or man


The River Niger


Have you seen the snake river
That flows about the Savannah?
The sun rays falls on it,
And the whiteness woos the eyes
The hippos and crocs love it
The river pythons dwell about it
A beckoning waterfall up the rocks
And Mother Nature sings loudly,
Always as she washes her garments
On the clean waters of the falls
Onitsha feeds on thee
Lokoja banks on thee
Forests gain life about the banks
As the lower plains of Mali
The sweet songs of the canoe man
Whistling heartily, on a quiet day
Across thee, life-given river of the East
The falling leaves, descending upon
The face of the glittering waters
The green seaweeds clustering together
Painting a strange color on the surface
But thee, Niger river flows on
And on and on, thru nations
Washing the shores of the lands
Feeding the banks with life
Making the lands strange looking
And appreciative of what thee
Mother Nature is to man


Sweet breezes

Oh there are sweet breezes
Come from the ocean
And drawn by the wind about
All over the little hamlet
When the nights come
The skies become gloomy
And the trees shuffle
Enjoying the romance of the air
But the wind smilingly, silently
Sieves thru, pushing the heat
And making the lovers night chill
The coldness is not for the flesh
It passes messages to lonely ones
The soul needs a friend
The blows of the mild airs
Calling out to all, listen
Love is worth it, yes
But who plays all about this
Who knows the secrets of the heart
And listens to the hearts of men
Browsing the feelings felt
And to all openly minds
Reading the long tales written
Many knew not of this
Never again can the wind can tell


Shift from Professionalism to Creativity

Why do musicians, actors and comedians earn more than medical doctors, bankers, accountants and the rest of them professionals? Sometimes, what an active musician earns in a month is much greater than what an average doctor earns in a year! Even, they count in hard currency, I mean the entertainers. Why is this so?

Will it be that the world is shifting from professionalism to creativity.

So what’s new?
Then, if you are a taxi driver, this means you can add more life to your work by trying out new ways of satisfying your customers. Timeliness, politeness, curtsey, saying no to wrong offers in a kind and humble manner and even trying picking your frequent customers free a times! A cake maker, should try new styles daring cake styles which might never ever had been in existence. What of a cake with a fountain and cakey birds swimming about it? What people don’t really get to know is that being creative needs no schooling. Yes, schooling adds up too, but creativity comes natural. Can you try to open your own school somewhere in a rural setting with no or little academic presence? Or yet write a stupid story which who knows might be what the world has been waiting for. You can’t imagine the kind of creative thoughts come to my head. Do you know you can float a flower planting firm? You can sell anything even sand, gum, used paper, toys, candle, hair etc. Tell me what you can’t do, and I shall tell you what you can do.

What creativity implies is that you have the spirit of God in you. We were really made in Gods image, tap into your creative genius bank and soar high.



When you sing, it seemed you were crying
The darks corner stays
A quiet night, one of singing
Let the warmth of the song light my ways

The hot sun of these times
The winds of the blessed clouds
The Harmattan with her garments
All driving about in her chariots

When you wake the next morning
I see a cuter face
Staring, pouting, loving
Oh how nice, my brace

The cold nights are here again
Xmas and her fun
Of blowing airs, eyes full of sand grains
A night of the day Christ was born