Muse: Imaginations

First, it is good to know everyone has got the ability to imagine

Whether you keep thoughts of failure or dream of a great win,

All is possible and our minds must accept that which it is fed with

Now if you must fly watch the Cranes, watch also the clouds,

If you must swim watch the Barracuda and the water current

If you must dance, watch the wriggling worms and the mantis

Is there anything you seek, that man hath not taken from Nature?

The iron snake panting and puffing smoke run thru tunnels and bridges

Jets fly in echelon, the clouds their home and glad training ground

Now cars have four legs; of roaming land animals

And the bicycles maybe mock the chicken

Books grow from great ideas, these ideas from experiences

Or yet, from ‘thoughts of creation’ which was formerly inexistent

All represent mans’ imaginations recreated from Natures beauty


August evening rain

There’s this joy that comes with event of an evening rainfall

It brings life to the playground so the children make most if it

Also, it softens the days fatigue, putting mild and cozy air in the heat

The rain water serve as a natural bath, which washed garments and bodies

The children dance joyfully in it, forgetting their home works and worries

Even pets are not left behind, they wriggle through the multitude of players

And try to grip the cloths of their happy and carefree little masters,

The huts close by serve as the spectators arena for those who are rain sick

But here the children had all mastered the cold rains and her funny tricks

August rains bless the land, and grows the stream and river banks

In villages, the children find it an entertainment not to be missed!


Musing: The Hills top

I stand at the top, savoring this freedom

Oh hear me, hear me sweet Freedom!

I see the happy white clouds sail away,

I see the black hawks circle above me,

I hear the sound of talking, of machines, of the wild, altogether!

I see mother Natures great painting tablet,

I see the town and her gay hustle bustle

Roof tops glittering, hundreds or more,

Across the plains, solitary roofs, grouped roofs,

Perfect mix of greeny hues beside them, patches of black,

And dots of silver, shining in the hot sun, riding fast away,

Cockcroaching through the cover of tree leaves below

Blowing smoke up the hill which fade off with the wind,

I see the smooth river, I reach out to touch it from the hill

It flowed in unison, running towards the hidden great rocks

Washing away falling tree logs and pulling lazy canoes along,

I see the tents of cattlemen generously sited at the forest lines

And sometimes, sometimes I thought I could smell their cooking

The hill top tells much of the world below,

But I am blessed with the feel of freedom it gave!


The cry of Harvest

Harvest seasons are pretty lovely times
For wheat turn pale, then glitter like gold
And roses grow even redder with the heat
If the strong winds stayed a little more time
Then the lawn will be filled with stray fruits;
So birds with rodents will make a dish of some

At each sunset, the farmers gather their tools
And march home, singing merrily on their way
The evening tell their tales outside the beer inns
Where they always met to talk of the days work
Girls spread nuts and seeds out in the airs of the evening
Guiding the seeds from the grasses that live nearby
Grass color change with the suns long traverse
Fresh succulent grapes fall into the baskets
Ready to make the farm a nice cup of wine
“Get the machines ready; let’s go bring in the hur-vest!”
One will hear the farmers call out in the morning, 
Greeting the farm folks with their harvest cries


Musing: Singina likes my Tales

“I remember your funny and lovely tales”, she yawned
She continued: “You complete my day with your poems!”
At first I wasn’t sure of what I did exactly, 
But as a shepherd I find pleasure writing away
Telling of my travels, of my long days and how it ended
Now, tomorrow I shall tell you another tale of mine
If you seriously say you love the tales I tell you, 
Then you must pay attention, for it is not just a lullaby

For some tales are ill, when I fought my fears; 
To swim in the Snake river which flowed west, 
And when I caught a forbidden crab from the stream
I must tell you for you wished to hear of the Python
That took a traveler who was saved at the last point
Do not gasp, you must pay attention, for some of my lyrics
Are not songs at all, but words others say or teach me
As such you must pay great attention to what I say


The Hills of Isuikwuato

See these monuments standing to salute, to greet the great and small, 
From the top, the tree branches wave their way through the wind
And down below, their roots, like men’s arms pop out of the ground
Across the skies, just above the hills, light blue clouds abound

Mushrooms are the landlords, they command the lands at the zenith, 
Squatting, they grow in different hues, covering the thick forest floor
The Palm trees gather in a parliament, eyes above, on birds that soar
Watching the happenings of the day and night from their outpost oars

Plummages, soft; grey, pink, orange, blue, yellow and dark green
Glide above the skies, enjoying the mornings ride across the wide horizon
They paint dots on the clouds, as the wind try to disturb their little fun
Calls rent the air, billions of individuals are awake in this hilly town

Bees, butterflies, flies, moth, beetles and hoppers are the major little wings
Also the dragonflies thrive, the Hornets buzz through the forest shrubs
And the numerous spiders spin much webs to catch bigger stray bugs
Wasps and the preying mantisses wait, hiding behind dead tree logs

Ants and termite hustle for territory, on tree leaves and on the soft soil
The snakes, most green and black skinned live in the cover of the green lush forest
Bats and some birds live in the hollow weathered by time on the barks of trees
And when they feel the evening aura gathering, they spread their wings and fly!

The streams cockroach through the thick covering of wild trees
Mahogany, Gmelina, Whistling Pines, even the greatest of trees, the Iroko
Surround the waters that give life to the hills, the wild live there today and tomorrow
The rodents are numerous, they play hides and seek, they dig the Earth and burrow

Now the hills in Isuikwuato are much, they decorate the land 
And give us funny names of people who come from the hill! 


My birthday! 

Is it not amazing I was born on 8.24AM of August 8th, 198X? I have all 8’s. Happy Poetic Birthday to me! 


The Path

Many walked the path, many might never return
Before the days go dry, the town will be half empty
Many sought the way to gold, with so much energy
That the essence of life itself is lost to the cause
The outsides of the town show signs of wealth; 
Just by the gates the green lush forests beckon, 
In those forests, wildlife and flowery vegetables abound, 
Swift flowing rivers carry logs to other unknown lands
And the birds sing joyfully, that one might forget her sorrow
Beneath the soft soils, the roses grow and the hares burrow
Fruits fall from trees, turn sour, decay and fertilize others
Fresh forest airs and scenery heal the eyes from a far distance 
The mountains shield the gold as many will say
And if they could summon a little courage 
To find the caves the wildmen kept, maybe
Just maybe, the pathway will bless their hope
But when many walk the path, many will never return


I am loved

I remember the first time we crossed and how we looked at each other
It seemed the whole world stood for a minute in my light brown eyes
My heart beat drums when I sit close to you, my mind takes flight, away
The world is dead to me, I keep wondering how happy I am when you stay
But you have made me happy, yes you brought great joy into my life
And I celebrate this new start and life with you! 

So when you look at me

And when you smile at me, 

It makes me glad, very happy!
Now I remember when we cried because our hearts couldn’t hold it
Our hearts couldn’t hold the love that grew in them and so we cried
In the night, when the rainfall storm, the quiet music is of your beautiful love
Now take me, take me to a place where my eyes will see the Beauty of Your Love

Now your smile bring me smiles again
And your embrace support my slumber
For I have been loved by you once
And now know what it means to love


Under the Tree shed

Smell of humus and dusts mixed with moist brought the joyful crowd, 
Small mounds of Earth with shrubs rising from them surround the tree
To the coming night the evening breeze surf about, grazing her flock
As soft fragrance from the nearby roses scent the arena, gathering bees
Evenings are welcomed with smiles for it ushers in time for rendezvous
Lovers mask around, waiting for their own, searching for a fine spot
The full moon will shine tonight and the small mounds will serve as sits
When we gather we shall talk about our love under this tree’s fine shed


August mornings

I have seen tree leaves twist in the air, as they dance to meet the earth
Brown, some red, some still green; but all rushing to touch the ground
The floor is littered, a gathering of old and fresh tree leaves lay on the dirt
And why they fall, they won’t say, but when they do, they seem extremely glad

Apples and much citrus hang on branches, dangling with the soft air
The wind push fine dust up to meet the fruits, powdering their faces with it
When the apples hang on the branch they gossip about the tree leaves that sail, 
They are happy with the Wind and her queer entourage of fine dust

Morning sun, the herald of a new day, of a new beginning and new tidings, 
Rise from the hills behind, throwing her colorful hues upon the sleepy town
In her might she draws, casts and paints the people, flora, fauna: everything, 
Enjoying moments she passed falling tree leaves, ones that sailed through the cloud