The Hideout

Only voices speak now, wind surge bring their words

Birds chatter up the trees, nothing but quiet silence

Dews hidden on tree leaves fall, tapping into a mock pool

While the bass-throated toad grunt softly at the dancing tree leaves

Sometimes the tree leaves fall in circles, gathering solemnly

The wind pushing them about, at least the ones who defied decay

Catfish roam the breadth of the free flowing waters of the marsh

Snails cling to the green bushes, water dripping from their hard shell

There is absolute quietness, mild and tender tryst of Nature

Beneath the dancing trees, few squirrels and insects congregate

Picking the sweet fruits which had strayed down to the river banks

Down, down the view, the waters fall with soft, strange sighs

White waters bouncing off shiny peebles and ageless rocks

The wind helping the surge, the sun finding no place here

When a seed falls- plum, into the river, the fish scatter in fright

Gathering again to swim the slow current, schools picking about

In this citadel, all knew no morning or night but excitement: 

One drawn from Natures providence, a quiet escape for healing 


The Forest


You call to me, tonnes of sound whispering through the wind

Calling me, singing songs of the wild, emissary of Nature

You send the birds, they ‘caw-caw’, they fly the heavily blued cloud

They make the skies their tuft, everything in you: their leisure


Green trees, red flowers, purple feathers, all in perfect unison

You call to me, you Baobab, you Bee and Flamboyant, you Cheetah

I listen, I write, I dream of your call, I write and I listen again

The days run out, they run fast into the current of the river


From the wild palms, monkeys dance and display their weird talents

In your joyful reverie you laugh at their circus and happy lust

Each day they play, each day they lived and so each day went

You engage all, the blue clouds, buzzing bees and seeds that burst


Down below, beautiful, fine and awesome lives exist

Crickets and hoppers play about, worms race on the clay

In the quiet mornings the sun must rise to take off the mist

All day and night, their is your song, one we can not say


In the summer, the hot sun shimmer and shine all day

The blue skies are unperturbed, the alligators lay lazy

In the mid day, snake beat the traffic, they make quick hay

All and all, at the end, you have your occupants busy 


Sunset: Ride of Nature


I see you ride with the clouds, hiding your face from mine

Blushing before the endless firmaments, resting from the day

You have carved a wall of silver triangle upon heaven

And upon the midst of the oceans of floating clouds 
To the ends of the dying day you created a memory, 

Streaks of your silver push in thru the holes on doors

… All that is left of a fine sun set over a sleepy city, 

The retiring day you made your fine troubador


Hidden in your dress of clouds you ride

Proud with the days work you are filled

The warmth are gone when the Night abide

Moistened thoughts, dried out with soft airs


Golden Sunset, natures even ride… 

Painter of the wooded Savannah

Traversing the cities and wild… 

A reminder of love, blessed of God 


Another August Night, a birthday song


I hear the wind howl through the gaps again

Calling out, solemnly to the young evening 

I hear your name being sung, by the days rhyme 

Ten thousand voices; everything singing at the same time


Cold evening begat bright celebrations

Hopeful; boxes of joy, gifts from the heart

Green colors, smell of sweet vegetables 

Purple hues, flowers and nice fragrances 

Yellow and pink, cute dresses suggested

But orange is for you, when you blush 


And to end this little musing of mine… 

Let the Heavens remember your days song

Let your wishes come true today and always
I wish you a happy birthday… 

Note : Today the 16th of August, I pen this poem to celebrate a childhood friends birthday. I wish you a Happy birthday, Juliet Okoko. I wish you long life, prosperity and much more. 😊 Happy celebration. 


Musing: Countryside 




I am hidden in the thickly wooded forest land

Tucked away in a pocket of land in the countryside

Green paradise, constantly drenched in the Rain; 

The august visitor, which comes when she wills;

And desires to make the clouds dark, the day solemn

To keep the warmth from all the hamlet, farm and hill


The sun is hidden above the tree leaves and branches 

Underneath the woods; life goes on, life continues

The airs are sweet, amazing, a healing surge

Fires are made to keep the treacherous cold away

In clear contrast of it all, heat or cold, not to dodge

Admonitions, words, messages are never to go astray

For the countryside can be a darling or a demon 

A companion or a disaster, with or without

Tucked away in a pocket of land in the countryside

Just underneath the woods; life goes on, life continues 


Morning Poem

Lavenders,  gardens, the fair butterfly

Gold, sun rising across the blue sky

Quietness, serene green forest, birds calling

Yawn, a kick and high hopes waking
The warmth of the sun, glittering across the fields

Buzzing bees, smooth sailing airs, some wildlife

Smell of burning food, hawks hunting for food in the hamlet

Warm airs rush forward, drying the grasses that were wet
The beauty of the morning rise from the inside

When the lights wake, when it comes to abide 

In the early mornings; our blessed Natures gift to everyone

Brings succour to our hearts, through the beauty we have seen

Africa education folklore Poetry

Rainmaker Tales, the first

When the green neighborhood dance to the call of the wild one

Dark are the skies; darker even are the clouds which stalk the rain

The wind came swift and slow; rushing at times as petals of flowers dance

To the music of the coming rain; to lullabies that made heads bounce

And to the Forest people, to the clans that inhabit the wooded lands

A rainmaker was awake, perhaps trying his skills or yet just being mad!

The lightning draw bizarre images across the dark firmaments

Causing the trees to look like knights with forks on the footpath

Silhouettes of mud huts stood motionless in the fiery wind surge

Exposed to danger: the rainmakers ire, the villagers, try to dodge

The day turns to night; shelter is the song of the hamlet

When the rainmakers strength leaves him or his tools* spent,

He lets the strong breezes to rest on the call of the wild one*

But they wait on the men call, him who had mastered the rain

Note: In Africa, people are capable of making rainfall. Most of these people are the native traditional doctors; those referred to have access to the wisdom of ancient and dead beings and spirits.
Tools* the rainmaking tools of the rainmaker, which comprises leaves, herbs, and other condiments.

Wild one*: it is evident that the rainmaker and the wild one are the same people. Or yet can be the source of the rainmaker’s powers.


Rain on the Window 

I love the sound of the rain when it hits the windows
When the multitude descend down from the Heavens

Splattering, hitting the Earths crust, smashing the clay 

Throwing up sweet scents, one unaccustomed to man

The sounds create a regular rhythm which sings a lullaby

Soothing are the rains words, mild are her amazing airs

The waters fall on the glasses, merging into balls which sigh, 

Silently, they rush off the glass in ecstatic and joyful haste


Your eyes

I call you Natures finest, nothing stands touching but your pretty eyes

It melts the body and the soul,  it remind me of the wild and of untamed love

It is like the Summer sun whose glow shine upon yellow wheat fields

It is the touch of the Suns gold which sprays her tentacles upon a waking town

Your eyes fascinate all, staring in them makes the earth shudder beneath me

In the mornings, it is like rays, dreamily casted for inner warmth,  unexplainable 

In the evenings, it calls on to the wild, the cats wonder if you are one of them

Your eyes inspire the ink in me, it drives my pen crazy and if this pen would live

It shall call you mother Natures gift to Earth, pure inspiration from God Himself


Muse: Morning in the rain season

Here has become something else without much of the sun
The wind takes her toil, she dances about with no care

When the South forge towards the cold rainy season

The queer climate of the evening is seen in the morning

The mildness, softness of the wind makes all, everything cold,

Even when the sun rise, her warmth is little, insignificant

Overshadowed by the icy cold, a very strong reminder

Of strange tales of wild cold places; Utopia, some vampire land

Yet this early morning was just being born,

And a lot have not been seen, for the day is young


Sunrise in Enugu

Alas the sun rise above the clouds
Without the mild weather all seem hot

Above the hills, greened with vegetation

And roof tops, which brown is tanned
The clouds blue upon the long firmament

Draw very friendly and smiling apparitions

One that will definitely see the sun set

Birds fly, trees swoosh, the airs sing calmly
And in a poets mind, a story is being told…


Note: Enugu is the capital of present day Enugu state in Nigeria’s East. The city is characterized by muddy terrain, hills, green vegetation and welcoming traditions.