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Psalm: Father, I thank You

sss

Father I thank You
I thank You for the airs come to me
For the light and colors my eyes see
I thank You for the noises of people I hear
And the garments You gave me to wear

The cloud wore a white garment
The future we see is very bright
The earth herself is dampened
By this Heavenly morning rain

And now the atmosphere is calm
It beat out for me some new aim
My soul revives with much warmth
I rejoice and sing Your praise henceforth

Thru the lengths of the Earth
West, East, South and North,
And where the sun goes asleep
And where the ocean sink deep

Your Supremacy is far greater
Than all I ever knew, Hallelujah!
There is none comparable to You
Bless our souls

Amen

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Waiting for the Rain

west-africa-unite

We are baked in the sun

While waiting for the rain,

But now she remembered us

The clouds has been moody

and we knew she must surely cry

now she wept, throwing rain water

All over the little hamlet

Now I claim the first drop

And you claim the next drop

Oh look up and see the rains come

see the multitude as they descend

The sweet romance of this rain

wash off the stress and pains

of the days work and labor

 

and when it rains in Africa

After a long drought

we dance and celebrate

 

 

 

 

West African Discovery

 

 

 

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Poetale: The Musk Rat

jeffothey

Prologue:
There was this tale my old granny told the children
She will always say “Listen my children, listen.”
And we; little, full of curiosity will look up patiently
Then it was usual before each tale to play about
In the strong moon light which swept the garden
In between the plays, we wrestled and danced
And played hide and seek near the yam barn
We also played on the soft sand beneath the mango tree on a windy night
Now I retell this story, but not as granny did…

OkeChukwu Iroegbu
West Africa

***

Once upon a time
In a land far, far away
Where the forests were untamed
And animals had clans and kingdoms
There lived a young musk rat
Who loved his mother so much
And took good care of her
He would go hunting for fruits
And exotic vegetables from the forests
And brought them home to feed
The mother and himself

A particular day came
And he found a bed of vegetables
Growing by the side of a pool
He gathered them
And in all he brought home nine baskets
He was overjoyed that the vegetables would last
Longer than he expected
And so he handled it to his mother

But when the mother cooked the vegetables
The nine baskets shrunk to two baskets
When the musk rat discovered that he had only two baskets
Of warm vegetables he questioned
His mother and wasn’t satisfied with her answers
So he killed her out of his rage

Another day he went to the poolside
And lo, fresh vegetables blossomed
And he picked to his fill once again
Carrying the nine baskets home
He boiled the vegetables and it all shrunk again
To two baskets and it dawned on him
That vegetables are lighter when boiled
And that he had killed his mother in vain
And again out of anger
He killed himself too…

Epilogue:
Well, anger can cause a lot of things
Anger can spoil a lot of things
And anger can be man’s greatest undoing

http://www.jeffothy.com

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Smiley

smiley

I like you to blow out laughing

Turn around and see me make a face

I like to see you smile

The pains in my heart go soothed away

I want to see the curves of your mouth

dance to the lyrics of my daydream

But call me names if you would

Call me the Pigeon and his one dark eye

Call me Napoleon of the ancient times

Call me the smiley

Which pops up before your face

In the middle of our chat

Call me anything

But I don’t care

For I want you to smile always

Because you got me

And a face which is like that of a smiley

 

 

Image from http://www.developersnippets.com

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Beauty and Beautiful

Ecstacy is beauty
It is a feeling formed to feel
A scent, a wish, a moment
A flower, a dinner, a kiss maybe
Which undescribable, won’t stay
For it is just a sweet mirage
Like a fine deer on the forest,
In the quiet hunting season
The deer ate thru yellow hay
And when the hunters came
To see a quarry, a happy trophy
She disappeared before their eyes

The mist is beauty
It promises water and lays before
The way to the stream and rivers
And the clan will stay back waiting.
Appearing in the morning
In the early wake of the sun
And dressing the clouds sweetly
Making hopes grow for the clan
Cushioning the breadth of Heaven
And blocking the reality before us,
But when the tents are raised
Nothing moist stays after its gone

Money is extremely beauty
It buys the world and love
And islands off the coasts of islands
It buys the poor, the government
But money distracts the focus
Of men and women, old and young
And if unbridled it destroys men
For with much money many things
Can be acquired, good or bad
Tanks and jet fighters, canons and grenades

The tongue is beauty
It holds the strangest of thoughts
The painting of disaster or peace
And if the day will be cold or dry
Hot or wet and if the clouds be bright
The tongue tells these tales before anything
It says the words we love or hate
Even when the heart says otherwise
And make everything quite compromising
The tongue sings song, sweet and sour
And looks solidly upon everyones face
The tongue sets the forests on fire
And hunts the innocent without trial

The smile we wear are like spring water
Throwing its brethren from the crags,
When the fumes of hotness heighten
And the thunder claps of sorrow becloud
A sweet answer and a smile calms the ire

But none of those is truly beautiful
Nay. For beautiful is not in smiles
Nor in great lengths, nor apparitions
Nor in money, nor in the morning mist
Nor in men’s tongue, nor in mere ecstactic thoughts
Nor in eloquency, nor in affluence
But in benevolence of character
And attitudes the beautiful lives

Beauty is not truly beautiful

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Let the World Sing…

Let the world fall before Thee,
The One who rule the Earth and the Sea
And drags the wind like as a child will his toy
The plants You let germinate on the grey soil
With Your great hand You made man in Your image
And yet You made the fullness of the Earth man’s wage
The ocean is a drop of water in Your palms
When You breath we have summer for it is warm
And a shepherd sits under the tree to admire Your works
The pine, the amaranthus, the emu, the guava, the ducks
The hairy mistletoe that grows along the way
And the apples that blossom on the month of May
The golden wheat which makes sweet, sweet cakes
And the smiles unseen anywhere but on an infants face
You have given the frogs of the stream a song to sing
Also the shrieking crickets with all beautiful things
They all made fine noise for the Most High
And they raise their voices up to the dark skies
Oh Jehovah, who is like unto Thee,
Who compares to Your mighty Glory?
Let the clouds in their travels sing Your glory
Let the rain in her showers drop Your glory
Let the thunder in her ravaging spark off Your blessings
Let the world arise to sing of Your beauty and adoration!

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Myrrh: A song of Oke Iroegbu

I want to sing of the butterfly
That roam the green garden
Happily she glide with the air
Watching the sun shine in the noon
And waiting to fly to other lands
Where the sunflower glows when the sun shine

I want to sing of undying hope
The harbinger of light, smokeless
Like an infinite candle
Sitting on the cliff of hearts
Which stay without much comfort
But had made hardwork their effort

I want to sing of the hills
Which grew so tall behind the wall
As a strange tower of sand and rock
Hanging without a pillar or pole
Mustering a muscle and a big soul
For everyone who seek who walk on her mould

I want to sing of the river
The one flowing through hills and valleys
The one feeding the nations and tribes
With clean sweet spring water
Washing, splashing in joyful haste and wonder
To the reach of everyone, the townsmen and the villager

I want to sing of the town
Where men worked in ecstatic arts
And women laughed as they dance
A city where the night came alive
For the day was made to strive
And the evening for men to meet their wives

I want to sing of you
Of your benevolence and malevolence
For all weaknesses,
When it was fun to say we
And when we woke to see
There was little left to be

I want to sing of Gods love
Worthy is He that sit upon the Throne
The One who take me places
Brings me back in one piece,
The One who is the Almighty
He is the Air I breath, the Light I see

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Poetale: Three Memories

Okay I recall vividly when I was younger and I wore skirts cos I forgot to get some trousers for the long holidays and I traveled to place where I couldnt get trousers or shorts. Then I played with other kids wearing skirts like the Scottish, just that I had no pipe to play.

I remember staying back on a cleared farm ridge to quietly study an ant and a snake came crawling behind me. I heard the grasses move when it came out for my siblings were far away from the cleared area and perhaps the snake thought the area was free. So I was between the snake and her nest. She decided to move straight for me and I dealt a decisive blow. The head was severed. The feeling that came afterwards… Me, yelling that I was a snake killer. Some snake killer.

I also recall slaying a chipmunk with a blow from a stick and an elderly hailed me for that… Yes I loved life, I love animals and pets but I won’t tolerate any that comes in my way of comfort like eh mosquitoes, rats, roaches, bedbugs (though we never had one), lizards (when they pack in, uninvited), sunflies, spiders (that build webs to decorate homes) etc. Well I was just a kid, full of tears and revenge for any rodent that dared to eat the fabric or food in the house.

I recall talking to the wild, to the numerous works made by God. My playmates were animals and plants. I made friends easily with stranger dogs and cats and babies. I recall this calmness I have with these wonderful creatures and how it melts my heart to see them malhandled. They seem to love me too and I can’t imagine enough how tender their loving hearts will be!

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The Zoo

Sunny, lazy
Sometimes muddy
Full of weary trees
Tree stumps
And overlapping tree branches
The green and brown mix,
Part of the enclosures.
Quiet in the noon
In the heat of the day
And the hustle of survival
The streams are green with mold
And the pathways are sticky with mud
But the fun of it all is yet to come

In the dark…
When the clouds went asleep
Screeching, mooing, whining
Croaking, sighing, hissing
Calling, honking, awooing
Noises of the great wild
Wake in the grim quietness
Nothing is to be seen
Just feel the sound of it all.
With or without the moon light
The emotion of Natures wilds arouse
On the scenery that she sat on
On the lowly vales and rising hills
On the streams that flow with algae
And the clouds that watch over the wild

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The Nomad

As the twilight came
I took a walk for some air
And down the roadside I went
There stood a young man
Bearded heavily like myself
Throwing corn seeds into his mouth
And grinding them with such relish
That his brown teeth showed in the process
He stood by our fence
And I decided to go talk to him
He smiled at me when I went closer
He looked, wait no way
He doesn’t look to be from here
Yes, I seen those tribal marks somewhere
He must be from the North, yes
‘Sannu!’ I hailed
‘Sannu’ he replied
Looking at me carefully
‘Do you wanti some agwado?’
‘No thank you.’
I saw his garment flowing,
Sailing with the mild breeze
When the airs went back
The dress leaned deep into his flesh
And his muscles were exposed
‘Kai, do you speak Hausa?’ he asked
‘No, very poor I guess’ I answered
‘Okay oh’ he turned to call his cattle
Then I realised he was a cattle shepherd
I relaxed a bit, wearing a new smile
My new friend must have something
To tell me about his travels and animals
He saw my face with a smile and grinned
‘Tell me about your best and worst time
Of shepherding and pasture seeking’
I said not even thinking…
‘My best time is seeing my flock feed
On a valley of healthy green grass’
He said in nearly perfect English
‘When the sun is high above the firmament and Earth
And when the Cows give birth in the dead of the night
And the first mooing of my favorite calf’
He closed his eyes to remember more
‘What about your worst moments?’
I seem to have awaken him from his dreaming
For he suddenly opened his red eyes
And shot a blazing stare at my mouth
‘Why are there wars in Africa?
Why men kill each other?
Why are the streams dry
And the oceans rise high?’
He asked with a frown
‘I was born into an African society
Where men knew little but war
Full of hate, tribalism, ire and pain
And every time one want to start a life
There starts a war, nations against nations
Tribes against tribes, people against people
And hate is substituted for human love’
He pulled a twig off his long garment
‘How can we live in a society without love,
Without hope and trust for one another?
Why do we fight in Africa with guns made somewhere else?
Why throw a bomb to destroy this land full of drought
And pain of lack of food and water and poverty?’
The air blew harder
‘It is time to go home’
He said smiling, holding his stick
‘Well as for my worst moments
I abhor seeing people suffer
For nothing sake, I hate seeing pain and blood
And that people have to suffer for others atrocities
It makes little sense to me but that is the world
We love and live in… Injustice, inequality’
I can see he was pained…
‘It is only Kaunar Allah that can save us all’
He said as he called out to his flock of cattle
Tsssking with his tongue and gesturing with hands,
Hanging his long stick and hat behind him
He marched off, waving heartily to me
I realise that the world still have some good in it

Commentary.
Sannu… Hausa salute
Agwado… Corn in Hausa
Kaunar Allah… Hausa language meaning the Love of God.
The Hausa is a tribe in present day Northern Nigeria known for their unique culture, tradition, arts and food.

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Breezy Evening

This evening is quite exceptional
No stars, no fireflies, no light
No torch, just a quiet darkness
And a sweet surge of sweet wind

The clouds are dark and light
And upon it the lightning flash
Now and then, sparks of white
Stray through the firmaments

Raindrops fall slowly, quietly
She seem to travel light today
With the constant massaging airs
They create a beautiful aura

The smell of flowers and scent
Wake with the quiet windy evening,
Flowers are extremely beautiful
They remind of pretty things

And just outside the gate
The crickets and frog choir sing
A strange tone they sing tonight
For the rhythm was not regular

So the sweet breeze is free
The evening quietness solemn,
A freedom to taste and care
And a fine new start to savor

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The song of a Methodist

Our job is to praise You
Bring down Your glory
The trees bow before You
Your works are Beauty

The wind is Your messenger
The clouds like a fog to You
Nothing compares to Your power
Nothing is greater than You

Little is the whole Universe to You
Decorated with fine firmaments
You make the Heavens your abode
And Your foot stool is the Earth

When it rains the clouds sing,
And the birds sing of Your wonder
They clap with their fine wings
What an Excellent God, Jehovah

Worthy is the Lamb, Halleluyah

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The Commonwealth Annual Short Story Competition 2017

The Commonwealth Annual Short Story Competition call for submissions.

We’re delighted to let you know that the 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize is now open for entries. The closing date is 1 November 2016. The prize is for the best piece of unpublished short fiction (2,000-5,000 words) in English; regional winners receive £2,500 and the overall winner receives £5,000. Entry is free.

Stories translated into English are also eligible, and this year we invite writers from writers from Mozambique who write in Portuguese, and writers who write in Samoan, Swahili and Bengali, and who do not have an English translation of their story, to submit their stories in the original language.
The international judging panelthis year comprises Zukiswa Wanner (Africa); Mahesh Rao (Asia); Jacqueline Baker (Canada and Europe); Jacob Ross (Caribbean) and Vilsoni Hereniko (Pacific), and the chair is the novelist Kamila Shamsie.
“One of the pleasures of short stories is the potential for encountering both breadth and concentrated depth of writing over the space of just a few stories. In the case of the Commonwealth Short Story Prize, the geographic range of the entrants, as well as the prize’s track record of attracting extraordinary writing, turns that potential into near-certainty.” Kamila Shamsie, Chair, 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize
Commonwealth Writersis delighted to continue its partnership with GrantaMagazine to give the overall and regional winners of the 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize the opportunity to have their story edited and published by Grantaonline.

To submit a story visit the website:
Www.Commonwealthwriters.org

Best of luck!!!

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Amuse: A High School Certificate

Now I return to my hamlet
With a high school certificate
From the Government College
And to the amazement of my people
And welcoming of the King himself!
I march down with my long socks
And my pants which is torn everywhere
As the crowd sang me a victory song
Even the Kings daughter herself smiled at me
‘Yes, our son conquered the white mans education!’
Yes- I return home to my fathers house
With this trophy of paper and pride
With many tales to tell the young ones
And a knock for anyone who dared sleep
On my bamboo bed during my long absence

I learnt that the alligator
By the streamside
Which terrorized the hamlet
Is still hale and even hearty
And some village boys
Strive in vain to kill it
Wait. No way…
I am the one to kill this alligator
Yes, who else but me?
After all I have a high school education!

Oh Fatami. Yes Fatami is still in town
The girl that plays the strings of my heart
Hmm… But I never had this courage
To tell her about my concern for her
But I have great feelings for her
She never looked my way till now
Maybe cause I came back from High School
I will stand and talk to her… Kpam!
And if she dares to laugh at me the way she does
I shall run away without looking back

If I shrug they will say I have come now
How can I be teaching this people to pronounce
Pietaguras and bayology and kemistery
Yet they speak in tongues before me?
They say I am too clever… Hehehe
I laugh cause back in High school
My teachers call me a big empty drum
Well, let me be what I can while it last
All the boys knew was hunting the giant rats
And the girls planting vegetables on the garden
I tell them, we call this agerecutural or agere
They mimic my voice and laugh at themselves
If I sigh now they will say I have come

If I had spent more time in school
I might as well pick a new name
A new identity, I can’t believe I came from here
But wait… I heard them say they paid my fees
The Hamlet council contributed to my scholarship
Well, that is very good for them
Atleast I came back with the paper
They all wanted to see and saw
And why everyone is good to me
I don’t really know…
Everyone, even the witch of the hamlet

Now I sit in the hut all day
Watching the sun rise and set
Doing nothing with my self
And waiting to be served foo”foo
And smoked bush meat
Dada called me his son
For the first time since I was born
Now he shows me off to the clan
And beats his hairy chests hard
Dada also stopped me from farmwork
And said I belong to pen and not a hoe
I am scared that when Dadas tobacco foil finishes
He might find my High School certificate handy
No thanks, I must be very vigilant nowadays
I am weak and lean, I need some exercise

Commentary.
This is purely an imagined piece. No character or persons or places were represented here and if there are any resemblances it is by chance. The piece is meant as a comic relief and is a work of fiction.

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Tale: The Animal King: Confusion and Disunity

Gather now… Come closer
Warm your hands, sit near the fire
It is a cold evening, is it?
Now pay attention to this poetale
I hope it helps warm you up
And trust it prepares you for a fine sleep

 

Once upon a time
In a land far away
Across seven rivers
And seven hills
Lived a clan of animals
Then there was no strife
No envy, no rivalry
Between the clan of animals
For then the strife held not
Cause there was no king
No ruler, no master of any sort
But animals who lived freely
Tilled their land as they wished
When they wanted to and so on
Then some stronger animals
Felt they could bully others
So many animals started trespassing
Some took others lands
Some marched on others crops
And some hijacked others wives
So, Anarchy decided to spread
Her blanket of no good
Upon the animal clan
Until the Cricket suggested
That all head homes should meet
To resolve this…

So during the meeting
Everybody sat down quietly
And waited for someone to talk
Mumblings filled the arena
Guilt of crimes wont let anyone speak
The mosquitoes, carefree buzzed aloud
‘Wait!’ the Cricket yelled
‘I greet you all’ he began politely
‘The way to solve this menace
Is to appoint a King who will rule us
Someone who will bring justice
And fairness to both big and small’
‘Nice idea’, his relatives called after him
‘Now I am the brain of the meeting
I should be allowed to nominate
My humble self as the King of the clan!’
‘What? Why?’ an angry Elephant trumpeted
‘You little thing, so minute, so irrelevant!
How dare you even think of that
When someone like me is here?
I should be the King undisputed!’
‘You all must be joking!’ laughed the Giraffe
‘How can you become the King
When you are just round like football
And can’t even move a leg higher?
No no no, it just doesn’t fit you
Well, take a look at me and my length
I interact with the moon
And when angry I ate her half!
I should be the King instead!’
The whole clan went dead with silence
They thought the Elephant would retaliate
So they waited for the worst to happen
But nothing happened…
‘Let me be the King’ the ape called out
‘None of you is so capable of tree climbing
And infact I can swing and dance up the skies
You don’t know this feeling of tree dwelling
The skies are my playground… Can’t you see?’
‘Talking about playground, you are out of it!’
The Eagle whined…
‘I live in mountain peaks
Where none of you can reach
Or dare reach and I am the master
Master of the blue clouds and wind
Make me your king!’
‘Talking about flying you are not alone in it’
A mosquito stood to talk
‘How many of you can sing in a human ear
And make him slap himself madly?’
‘No way, who speaks now?’ the Lion growled
‘The kingship belongs to I and the pride
The pride is strong and courageous
And can defend and take care of the clan
My roars frighten our enemies
My claws are fine killing machines!’
‘No sir, was it not one of your pride members
That slaughtered an innocent sheep the other day?
We can’t let you be our King’
Someone yelled from the crowd
‘So what do we do right now?’
Let us then nominate from those
Who showed interest in the position’
An elderly Parrot suggested
‘Please everyone should point at their candidate’
To the crowds surprise
Everyone pointed to their kith
The Giraffes to the Giraffes
The Apes to their kind
The Pride to the Lions
And so on…

And when no head way was made
Everyone nominated himself for Kingship
Since everyone was to be the King
They all left fighting and arguing
And so is the animal clan
In much confusion till this very day!

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A Poetale: Night and the Wind

Flirty
Breezy wind of the south
Woo my candle light
Which danced like a mad man
She paint the wall
With the silhoutte of the light
Drawing pictures of many objects
Showing a magnified view of shapes
Scary and gigantic. Titanic!
The curtains are thrown up
At each blast from the wind
And her underwears revealed
The wind surged forward
Re-echoing the song of the Pine
Driving hard upon the street poles
And pulling the rooftops viciously
Making crazy men of the beer inn yell

And just outside, by the window
Dogs raced home to their forts
Even the trees knew some danger
The wind danced about the street road
Riding on newspapers and cellophane,
On every stray thing upon the Earth
She roamed about the street
Like a little hurricane
Upon the quiet fields of farms
And no one dared stand before her!

The grip of the quiet night,
Clouds which won’t rain
The firmaments when darkened
And the appearance of the wind
Upon which asunder came with
The dirt that flew into eyes
The songs of the Whistling Pine
And the disturbed roof tops
All tell this tale tonight…

A tale I love to write about

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A muse: And Today I am Human First!

1.
”Do you know why people miss it a lot?
We love things and not people
We love money and not someone
We love machines and gadgets
And will give those our time and concern
While the world dies from human pain and poverty
The world dies from neglect and carelessness
So much machines are made, so much robots built
Nothing compares to that human besides you, nothing
Sicknesses are caused by man’s activities on Earth
Some stay to invent crisis and wars and disasters
I wonder what class of animals or plants they are!
Sometimes I reason why we are made human and not mangoes
Or crawfish or fireflies that prowl the pitch dark night
Human beings are laboratory rats for science
And the same scientists are human beings like me
What a shame! What a blunder! What an atrocity!

Can’t you see why wars are being fought?
Weapons got to be sold, business needs to be alive
And by the way, why do we settle disputes with wars?
Why not come let’s arm wrestle or box in the rings?
Bring your best man, let my nation bring our best man
We need no general chaos or destruction or death
We need to prove we are stronger with something else
Something other than a gun or missiles or bombs

Nations take other peoples lands and governments
Have you forgotten the reason why we are a world
Is the diversity and joy of living as different people
With several ideas, stories, faces, colors and faith?
What happens if all these vanishes into thin air
And everyone starts to think like a one headed hydra?
There would be no life if I have to change myself to be you
Or if you have to change yourself to be me
Or if we are forced against our will to live a certain type of life
Nothing forthcoming, nothing sensible,
Just a world of living zombies marching around
With a conscience infected by an evil virus

And gold and oil is worth more love than a dying child
The jewels on our necks are made from a childs toil
Down the illegal mines were modern slavery lurks
Men and women, children are turked away, working
Under the whip of the master, one with a dead conscience
Young women and girls are earmarked for prostitution
For Gods sake, we are not dogs, we are not chicken
How dare someone, anyone treat another as such?

Somewhere in the world someone dies for lack of food
People lack potable water and clinical concerns
Yet automobiles are fed with gas made from cassava
And science is researching food for future energy needs
The world has so much potentials, so much food, much wealth
But much more pain and agony
Where is the human side of men?

There is many who lost hope in what the world can offer
They chose to become a foe to the world of men
They turn to criminals, rapists, killers, terrorists
More is funneling towards that lane of pain and anger
All caused by human lack of love for one another

Who created money? Sure God didn’t
But why is money a god right now?
That no one can perfectly say
For even so, money can’t buy happiness or longlife
So why is gold valued than a mans life on Earth?
Will it be we got it all wrong somewhere?
Money is man’s undoing and man’s greatest weakness

2.
The horses march with their heads
Nodding to the beats of the drum
And the strings of the bass guitar
They do their masters bid…
They are subjects of whip and burden
Yet they love their masters and do their will

The mother endure pains and harm to her body
She produces another life which grows to disobey her
Through her scars and pains she looks back at time
No one is to understand what went wrong
The silence between the pair greatly unfathomable
Yet from the angle of safety all was deemed well”

I walk away muttering to myself
”But note that love makes the world go round”

And today I chose to be human first

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Arise in the morning, with commentary

Morning is breaking,
So is the sun upon the horizon
On a day many will till
And many will waste still
The clouds grow and spread
A blue apparition they made
With scupltures on the wind
And strange painting on the cloud
The waking day beckons to all
To everyone to work…

Arise when it is morning
Arise and shine…

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Commentary.
Procrastination is the mother of delayed destinies. Most times we seek to ‘relax’ a little more, without understanding the consequence. In the morning, the sun wakes and she does so, so we could wake with her. Time lost can’t be replaced. Time runs fast and when we can we should try to keep up with her pace. Is it not said, time is money? A second is worth billions to some people, worth millions and thousands to others and worth nothing to others. Wake up when it is morning and do some work, do some more painting, more drawing, culture your flowers more, check your dance steps or songs lyrics, write another chapter, cook another recipe… Do anything, anything but procrastination. If you work for yourself or from home… A little more effort will be helpful. Start the idea you have been grooming, the sun is waking for you. Is it not a beautiful morning from Africa? So arise and shine and have for yourself a nice day!

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African Tradition: Calling upon the African rain storm

‘The land is hungry, so are my words…
Let’s make it rain… Let’s flood the dry earth and let the ink flow again!’

Now I seek to hear the sound of the rain fall
Yes let it rumble through the clouds
Like the stomach of a child about to purge
The vegetations here attest to the growing might
The stars are gone, gone out of the human sight
But this strange wind is not ordinary, it is the rain!

And when it rain, let it flood the drought lands
Let it fill everybodies pots, drums and calabashes
Let it water every sick vegetable all over the globe
Let it feed the cattle and wildlife everywhere on Earth
Let it fall and refresh the dying world
And let some rain dampen the ground on which we walk
In the morning we shall see a new seed sprout!

The tent doors shake with the coming wind
Here comes the might of the heavy rain herself
She twist and turns, hovers and manoevres, up and down
The great emissary of this rain; the wind plays about

Let me feel the smooth airs that come with it
Let me feel the wingless surge of the breeze
Let me feel the sweet whisper and kiss of mother Nature
Let the rooftop play me a fanciful drum of many beats
As my eyes close quietly, let a heavy rain fall!

Now I make the rain fall, wait and listen to it!

Commentary.

In Africa and some other parts of the globe, men are known to make rain fall. It is a craft which some have used for selfish reasons or for the general good of the clan.

This is purely imagined piece.

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Ogbor Hill

She sprawled across the breadth of the land. She lay humbly
Like someone listening to the Ocarina of time
Wasting away to carefree and careless governments
Losing the charm it was once known for
And settling for lesser things and lesser people

Ogbor hills abbatoirs lay with blood of sheep, pigs and cattle
The river of the Waterside wash strange men’s nakedness
Cow dung, pig leftover feasts and human wastes
Graciously find their way into the fast flowing rivers

Ogbor hill lives peacefully, she co-exists well with others;
The mechanic, the merchandisers, the retail marketers
The manufacturers, industrialists and fabricators
The wood smith, the metal smith and the vulcanizer
The educators, the transporters and the market!

In the grim darkness of the nights
Came tiny illuminations from thousands of light bulbs
From the surrounding hills and falls of shanties and slums
Came noises of man, machine and animals
Each hussling to stay alive, each fighting to survive
Some weak, some low, some high and some strong

The Waterside, the gateway to the hills stay cool
Warming the over heating causes of the industries
And man and his numerous mad machines
Driving nature mad with unrelented determination

Roads scatter, tarred, untarred, patched, degraded
Yet men thrived and moved about their business
Some build on the small roads, some on the drainages
The great quietness of the day only comes at night
This humble city is full of queer whims and caprices

Up the hill lives another town with her own lifestyle
The tentacles of this little city spread like the war ants
Sprawling across the vales and the hills, consuming everywhere
The team of strange people conquer the lands
Spoiling, tilling, living, farming, working, building
A nice example of environmental degradation
A fine instance of industrial waste and global warming

The little town serve as a breathing space
Safe from the much hustle bustle of Enyimba city
Imagine awakening those moribund factories
Imagine more industrial and human waste
Imagine living in a city of wealth but a plenipotentiary of waste

Commentary.
Ogbor hill is a town, part of Aba in Abia state of Nigeria. It is known for her enterprise, people and industries. Many schools, crafts, factories, religious bodies, governmental agencies, private concerns and residencies call here home. I was born and brought up here. The common language if not the corrupted English is the Igbo language of the Eastern Nigeria.

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it’s about to rain

Now here goes the first rain and wind storm of September…

And it came like a quarel
Throwing punches
Holding each others throat and
Blowing thru their fury noses

On their path, they throw fine sand around
Pulling the weak rooftops about
Now the clouds blacken with each provocation
The rain beat down like pellets
Raising a unique smell of dry clay
The wind stayed for a while
Rehearsing or renewing her strength
Or has she lost the battle yet?

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I wish

I wish I could smile forever
Sometimes it does not come so
I wish I was to pick comely flowers
Out in the fields where grain grow

I wish I could help the dying world
Though it seems some wish otherwise
I wish the nights are free of the cruel cold
For those who have no shelter or house

I wish that mankind loves one another
And help to wipe tears of the oppressed
I wish that it would rain and the waters
To the hungry lands of the farms flood

I wish I could ride a white horse on a joyful hue
In the lonely mornings thru the countryside
I wish you could see how much I loved you
And that nothing would make me leave your side

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A muse: The Eclipse

Today I woke hopeful
Thinking about yesterdays news
It is already past the hour
And there is no eclipse here
Hmmm… Maybe it is happening
Somewhere, Vancouver or Siberia

But here it seem like a saturday
Not much traffic of people like before
I told a friend of mine about this
And she asked…
‘What is gonna happen?’
‘Eclipse of the sun…’
I answered.

Well some eclipse…

Meanwhile the sun is out, shining bright
Like always, gold and on the clouds
Unpertubed, undisturbed… Not bothered in any way
Well I will be watching the windows closely
Should the eclipse decide finally to show up!

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Fly High September

How time flies
Memories fade too
But wear a smile
And always be good

Sing a song
Hum a tune
Dance along
Share a Coke

The days turn to weeks
The weeks to months
And the future we seek
But stay in Divine soothe

The grace of God blesses
It is a wonder
And from here come good wishes
So fly high September