Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love nature poems Poetry

The Lucern Tree by Robin Bliss

The Lucerne tree in flower
White petals floating down
Carpeting the pathway, and
The front veranda with a sea
Of white, white everywhere
Coming upon this alba sea
As a child; with music in my head
Amazed at the ocean of pearl
Sitting down in the middle of whiteness
Whiteness all around me, whiteness
Whiteness in the air, whiteness
Whiteness everywhere, whiteness
Childlike joy and happiness
Yes all alone to enjoy it
This vast sea of pure white
As a child it seemed so vast
Nothing bothered me there
Just sitting there with the tune
Going through my youthful mind
And the whiteness all around

Even now as I grow older
Memories come flooding back
Of a more innocent time
Taking pleasure in the simple things
That life provides to me
For they are the best.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love nature poems Poetry

Sun rays

Tall tree canopies,
Sun rays filter
Morning their phantom

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems night poems Poetry

Poem: Love Conquers

If dreams are colourless
Then love is a magical dream
That teaches and encourages,
It trusts from the heart
Builds bridges over water
To bring worlds together
True love shared
Fear no colour or creed

I lay my head
On your shoulders
Let’s take this love to moments
Where all eyes see its beauty

Categories
love poems nature poems Poetry

Love Poem: Dream Together

Faint voices speak,
Loud in my mind
I look in your eyes
It tells sweet stories
If I look away
It is to smile, in my heart
We live beautiful moments,
Laughter, peace, kindness,
Harmony, playful fights
And you, a perfect inspiration;
Pouting red lips
That reminds of cherries,
Hair dancing in the breeze
That spoke of dark nights,
Very light brown eyes
That talks of golden wheat,
Happy moments together;
Watching stars glitter
Singing away to hearts desire
Or the quiet gaze into sunset
Yes we dream together
Our beginning and end

Categories
love love poems nature poems night poems Poetry

Poem: Man and Nature

It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,
and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold,
and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.
Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn,
and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valleys
and the heather that blows on the hill.
Yet love may be better than life,
I ask can the heart of nature be compared to the heart of man?

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry rhyme

Poem: Sail away

Evening skies – sparkle of gold,
Brewing mills across the clouds,
While it may sail to faraway lands

Categories
lifestyle love poems nature poems night poems Poetry

Poetry: I’ll Wait

Love can be crazy
Yet I am amused
I try to figure the words
You pelt me with,
When we spoke of love
It was zenith of all, everything
Days and nights
It fell in and out
Maybe this was right,
I look farther away
Towards sunrise
A pint of love on my breast
And strong hope waiting…
To behold another beginning
So I let this patient heart beat
While it wait for you
Time will surely fade
But I will wait for your return

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love lullaby nature poems night poems Poetry

Night Poem: Stars Glitter

I watch pretty stars glitter
From this fine little window,
When night a perfect picture
Hung across the wide horizon

Fireflies dance around light bulbs
Mighty shadows cast upon my paper
Distracting a work full of life and art
Yet I stare out to behold stars glitter

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

Tender Love by Njabulo N.

Wasn’t my love enough for you?
In my mind I had concluded that you loved only me,
I thought you were cut from a different cloth,
Like you were not the same like everyone I’ve met.
But clearly, I was lying to myself,
You loved everybody like a campaigning candidate.
I could tell from my basic instincts that the universe loved you also.

You were a loaded gun and I was just a boy,
Because of lust and envy,
They took you for granted, like you were a cheap toy.
Only if I had the courage of pulling the trigger,
I’d had shot you on your head just to blow out your weak brain.

With my mind and heart filled with only love,
I hadn’t imagined my head searching for love lost,
As the absence of love was playing on your mind.
You preferred games over love,
I had promised myself to love you eternally,
I had a feeling that you were exceptional,
Like you were totally different from the rest.

I discovered that I was bluffing,
Only lying to myself, feeding my mind with toxic waste.
You proved me that my love was not enough for you,
I never imagined that you were promiscuous.
You had me believing that I mattered the most,
Of course you were buying my heart.

Our love withered so fast, before the flowers I had on my hands.
It only lasted for just a moment and nothing was left for me,
It was clear that the light was about to reach the night.
My tender love lasted for just a moment,
A moment that cost me,
Had me doubting a lot around me,
I had lost trust on everything, everyone.
Nothing was left on me,
Nothing was left for me.

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love Nature nature poems Poetry

Muse: Nature’s Circus

1

When you call, your sound rent through the wind
Whispers, songs of the wild, emissary of mother Nature
You send birds, they ‘caw-caw‘, they fly the blue clouds
Making the skies their tuft, and you: their leisure

2

Green trees, red flowers, purple feathers, all in perfect unison
You call to your own, you Baobab, Bee and Flamboyant, you Cheetah,
We listen, we write, we dream of the call, we listen and write again
The days run out, they run fast into the current of the river

3

From 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, blue clouds, buzzing bees and seeds that will burst

4

Down below, beautiful, fine and awesome things exist
Crickets and hoppers play about, worms crawl on the clay
In the quiet mornings the sun must rise to take off the mist
All day and night, there is your song, one we can not say

5

In summer, the hot sun shimmer and shine all day
The blue skies are unperturbed, alligators lay lazy
And mid day, snakes beat the traffic, they make hay
All and all, at the end, you make your lively circus busy

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love nature poems Poetry

Shadows – Poetry

When shadows are seen around
It shows gathering or dispersing,
Dancing or wrestling, singing or talking.
Shadows clone for good or evil
As a hefty hoe till the soft soil
Her shadow strikes things dead
Under the moon’s watchful eyes on this land,
Shadows of branches on the ground
Were green trees during the noon
Timid skies tower over all, they shine on fair nuns
But they become darkest of witches in the night
Fruits on trees seem round like metal pots,
Suspended from tree branches
Its shadows draw teen pregnancies
Yet life is magnified under the shadow;
A reality or farce, made of a shadow’s sorrow

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love love poems Nature nature poems Poetry

Flight to Summer – Poetry

There’s a symphony of joy,
See it roar up bright skies!
Emissaries of the aging day
Graceful flights over Africa!

*

It float above the countryside
Leaving to fresh, green fields,
Above those endless forests
Where hope still lived ahead

*

Each journey is to an unknown promise,
Somewhere between joy and pain
But fly they must: the fair geese
Up the blue clouds, a life only known to them

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems opinion Pastoral Poetry

Courage

The breadth of earth lay wet
But the sun rise from the east,
From vague sights and mists

The dark jungles, hot and serene
Yet lions stride through the green
Fearing neither man or faun

A shriek up the skies…
Eagles soar high; many miles
Hopes high, they seeth thru’ times

The wind surfs wild oceans…
Whale’s horn blows far beyond
All tremble, sea-dwellers and stray crustaceans

Now if the skies were conquered by a bird,
And the jungle by a fearless king, crowned,
And the waters by a giant strongly revered

Then this little piece is written specially for you
To bring you a blessed combination of these virtues


This is a thank you poem for all my readers and followers. You guys are awesome. Let’s do more.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

Sunset in Ovim

I stand by these rocks and hills, ancient
To enjoy again a beautiful moment of sunset

I’ve a new song to sing each time I behold the sun set
A song sang by my father and his father’s father

A song that echo through the hills,
Like smoke dispersing from mills,
Ancient like mud where palm trees grow
Cherished by all people who till and sow
A song enjoyed while treading this blessed path
One that my father and his father’s went
I am glad to sing for my hometown,
To make sense of everything around,
To dance alongside happy leaves of cassava
Or to admire the beautiful butterfly larva

When the skies are blue with her painting
I hear the sweet voice of evening wind sing,
With her multitude of insects, bugs,
Wailing infants and barking dogs
Happy palm wine tappers sing this song
When they wait on raw wine that trickle into kegs
Vast clouds sail across the horizon
From those heights they sing along
I watch while the blessed sun set
Down the hills that kept my path
Now familiar faces greet ndeewo
I’m ready to hear a good story or two

I stand by these rocks and hills, ancient
To enjoy again a beautiful moment of sunset


I just saw a beautiful sunset here in Ovim. Normally I would take an image. But it’s much better to experience this than to word it.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love haiku love poems nature poems Poetry

Muse: Let good paths…

Memories become tales untold
Hope are dreams in soft shield
If all passes into a sort of legend
Then let good paths never fade

Categories
folklore Nature nature poems Pastoral

Amuse: A Letter to the Squirrels Living in my Roof

New landlords

Okay guys, I traveled to my country home or just say my village. I was welcomed by squirrels racing on the rooftop. I thought it was a cat at first but cats don’t fly on tree branches. I finally saw one skinny squirrel holding his chin. It wouldn’t wait for me to get my camera. Honestly I have heard about snakes on a plane, puss in boots but not squirrels on the roof. So I’m going to write a nutty letter to this squirrel mafia, terrorising my rooftop.


Nutty squirrels,

First of all, I’m not mad at you. I’m not in any way mad. I wouldn’t blame you too. Though I love trees, I blame them for growing too close to my house. The branches shoot over my roof and you now have a new playground for your family. Your tree-barn has become too little, not enough for your nut provision that you introduced your nuts to my rooftop. My roof is your barn now.

I arrived home to find you my roof’s new landlord. You brought your siblings and your kids maybe. And they are all naughty, yes they are nutty. You probably expelled some of the lizards that pack in to homes left for long. So you are up there, feeling invisible – out of my brooms reach. Throwing nuts through cracks down my room and bed. I sometimes wonder how you summoned this courage to live in my roof, exercising vigorously at my disadvantage. You squirrel is something else, beautiful and surprisingly strange. I had never seen squirrels live in rooftops.

During your noontime play, I caught a glimpse of you, holding your chin with those broom-like hands and maybe thinking about your nutty economy. Dear new landlord, I’m grateful that you sleep at night, just like myself. If not, I would burn this roof and watch your nuts disappear with it.

– A distressed squirrel tenant.

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry

Stars – Poetry

When I wait under the old mango tree
I count the glittering stars far away
And laying on soft sandy soil
I get a better glimpse of the dark skies
The wind is my guest,
She rent her cold self to me,
She whispers tunes of nature
And drag tree leaves to fan me,
It’s an evening of quietness and cold,
Moments of thought wandering,
Of travel through stories and time,
Now the cold night draw nearer
I will watch my beautiful stars glitter

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love culture/tradition education folklore Nature nature poems Nigeria Pastoral Poetry

Poetale: The Nomad

When twilight came
I took a walk, for some air
And down the roadside I went.
There a young man stood
Bearded heavily unlike myself
Throwing corn seeds into his mouth
And grinding them with such relish
That his brown teeth showed off
He stood a little close to my fence
And I decided to go chat with him
He smiled when I came close
He doesn’t look like someone from here
Yes, I seen those tribal marks somewhere
He must be from the North,
Sannu!‘ I hailed
Sannuku!‘ he replied
Eying me carefully
‘Do you wanti some agwado?’
‘No thank you.’ I replied
I saw his garment flow up,
Sailing with the mild breeze
Like a kite on rampage
The dress leaned deep into his flesh
And his muscles exposed
Kai, do you speak Hausa?’ he asked
‘No, very poor in that regard,’ I answered
‘Okay oh,’ he turned to call his cattle
Then I realised he was a 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 smile and grinned
‘Tell me about your best and worst times,
Of shepherding and your herd’
I started without thinking…
‘My best time is when my herd feed
On a valley full of healthy green grass’
He said in nearly perfect English
‘When the sun is high above the firmament
When cows give birth in the dead night
And when I hear my favourite calf moo,’
He closed his eyes to remember more
‘What about your worst moments?’
It seemed I shoved him back from his dream,
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 streams dry
And oceans rising?’
He asked with a frown.
‘I was born into such society
That settle disputes with violence
There’s hate, tribalism and distrust
Tribe against tribe, people against people
And hate is substituted for love…’
He pulled a twig off the long grass
‘How can we live in a society without love,
Without faith and trust for one another?
Why fight and not dialogue to achieve peace?
Why bomb a land already stricken with drought?
And cause lack of food and drinking water?’
The air grew colder…
‘I tell you I have seen things. It is time to go home…’
He said painfully, holding his stick back
‘Well as for my worst moments
I see people suffer, Yes I have
For nothing sake, I hate to see children suffer
And people suffer for other people’s crimes and atrocities
It makes little sense to me but that is the world,
We love and live in. Injustice, inequality, intolerance, ignorance…’
I could see through his pain…
‘It is only love that can save us all,’
He said as his flock gathered together
Tssski-ing, he called them, making a clicking sound from his tongue,
Hanging his long stick and hat behind his back,
He waved heartily and marched off, leading his cattle away,
I realise that the world still have some beauty and good in it


Commentary.
Sannu… Hausa salute
Agwado… Corn in Hausa


The Hausa/Fulani is a tribe spread across West Africa and predominantly in present day Northern Nigeria. They are known for their unique culture, tradition, arts and food.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

Before Moonshine

Just before moonshine
Three little mice ran,
Up the hills they went
Six pairs of legs fast,
Working tirelessly
Towards safe solitary,
Away from barn owls
And every lurking evil


This poem was inspired by A. D.
Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems

Winter Love by Robin Bliss

Looking at the plum tree.
Seeing the dark bare,
Skeleton like branches,
Black against the dreary clouds.
Stripped by Winters cold,
Of its blanket of leaves.

The ashen, dingy clouds.
Are dripping raindrops.
This fine misty rainfall.
Is moved forwards by a,
Languid, lethargic breeze,
Coming strait from Antarctica.
This bitterly cold midwinter day.

But! You and I my love are,
Sitting together on the couch.
Our arms are around each other.
Bodies snuggled close.
In this warmly heated
Lounge room, in love.
You smile at me.

I smile at you.
No need for words.
Two happy contented people.
Very deeply in love.
Deeply in love
With you.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

Hope a poem by Ashok Gupta

If winter comes can spring be far behind?
Without hope, patience is not worth a dime!

All that seems wise
has already been said
A hundred times.
Let it stand alone
Without the need of a guise.

Evaluate it then within the recesses of your own mind.
All thoughts need some context to be meaningful
And applicable to your own life.

No thought can be absolute.
Only Truth is.
But what is Truth, who has known?
Has it ever been, in words told?

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

Divine Grace by Rajan Varghese

Embracing beauty and power
Musical melodies of divine excellence
Grace and smile composed
By the finest artist in brilliance

Destiny follows you like
God’s will
Man often ordained as
master of his own work and
destiny to receive honour
And power!

As the divine grace
granting new life
with a new name and
blessings!

Like a shepherd
Named Jacob
determined, wrestled
with God and nature!

Through out the night
To hold on the Divine
Till the day break in
faith and meditation!

As the shepherd loved
knowing the Divine Name
The Divine in turn
Blessed him with
A new name Israel!


@ RajanVarghese
Trivandrum Kerala
India . July 09, 2020

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Pastoral Poetry

Love Poem: Let’s Dream Away

Your voice wakes the wild nature in me
When you sing the lyrics gladden my soul
I adore those moments you look over your shoulder
To catch my happy stare; as you dance away, laughing

***

You dress like tulips that grow on the farmyard
Fresh, delicate pink, lively as green bean pods
Scenting the room with your flowery perfume
When we walk on the beach, you lead this scent

***

So when night come upon our weary selves,
You make me close my eyes and dream away

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems opinion Poetry

Art of Divine Poetry By Bhagirath Choudhary (Translated to Italian, Filipino, Albanian, French, Romanian, Spanish, Serbian)

Art of Divine Poetry

Poetic imagination
Praises beauty of creation
Giving words and voice
To every human nation

Poet feels the pulse
By his poetic impulse
Bard’s heart resonates
With loving sonnets.

Loving poetic spell
When rises well
The ordinary mortal
Becomes divine poetry portal.

With sacred passions
Poets dress up naked nations
Bards like holy masons
Build temples of civilizations.

All rights reserved
© Bhagirath Choudhary
June 11, 2020


Translation into Italian by celebrated Poetess Patrizia Girardi

Arte della divina poesia

Immaginazione poetica
elogia la bellezza del creato
Dando parole e voce
Per ogni nazione umana

Il poeta sente il battito
Con il suo impulso poetico
Il cuore dei vati risuona
Con sonetti amorevoli

Amorevole incantesimo poetico
Quando si alza bene
Il comune mortale
Diventa il portale della poesia divina

Con sacre passioni
I poeti vestono le nazioni nude
Ai vati piacciono i santi costruttori
Costruisci templi di civiltà.

© Patrizia Girardi


Translated into Filipino
By: Eden Soriano Trinidad

Sining ng Banal na Tula

Matulaing imahinasyon
Pinupuri ang ganda ng nilikha
Pagkakaloob ng mga salita at tinig
Sa bawat bansang kinabibilangan ng tao.

Ramdam ng makata ang pulso
Sa udyok ng pagkamatulain
Puso ng makata ay nakikiayon
Na may pagmamahal ang bawat tula.

Gustong gusto ang nakakaakit na tula
Kapag ito ay hinusayan
Ang ordinaryong mortal
Nagiging banal na daluyan ng panulaan

Sa masagradong damdamin
Dinaramtan ng mga makata ang kahubdan ng mga bansa
Mga makata ay tulad ng mga banal na mason
Nagtatayo ng mga templo ng sibilisasyon.

Translation in Filipino
© Eden Soriano Trinidad


Translated into Albanian by Seli Murati

Arti i Poezisë Hyjnore

Imagjinata poetike
Vlerë e bukur e kriesës
Me fjalën dhe zërin e bukur
Për çdo komb njerëzor

Poeti e ndjen pulsin
Për nga impulsi i tij poetik
Zemra e Bard rezonon
Me sonete të dashura.

Dashuri magji poetike
Kur ngrihet mirë
I vdekshëm i zakonshëm
Bëhet portal i poezisë hyjnore.

Me pasione të shenjta
Poetët vishen kombet e zhveshur
Bardha si muratorë të shenjtë
Ndërtoni tempuj civilizimi.

Të gjitha të drejtat e rezervuara
© Seli Murati
July 02, 2020.


Translated into French by Gordana Saric

L’ ART DE LA POÉSIE DIVINE

L’ imagination poétique
Apprécie la beauté de la création
En donnant des mots et une voix
A chaque nation humaine.

Le poète sent le pouls
Avec son impulsion poétique
Le coeur du bard résonne
Avec des sonnets d’ amour.

La magie douce d’ amour
Quand il monte bien
Le mortel ordinaire
Devient un portail poétique divin.

Avec une sainte passion
Les poètes habillent les nations nues
Les bardes en tant que saints maçons
Construisent des temples de la civilisation.

French translation by Gordana Saric
©Gordana Saric
July 01, 2020


Translated into Romanian by Georgiana L. Gheorghe

Arta poeziei divine

Imaginația poetică
Laudă frumusețea creativă
Oferind cuvinte și voci
Fiecărei țări.

Poetul simte pulsul
Din impulsul poetic
Inima bardului răsună
De sonetele duioase.

Frumoasa vrajă poetică
Când crește mare
Omul nornal
Devine portalul poeziei divine.

Cu pasiuni sfinte
Poeții îmbracă națiile goale
Asemeni sfinților pietrari
Barzii ridică temple de civilizații.

Toate Drepturile Rezervate.
Bhagirath Choudhary
11.06.2020
(Traducere în limba română: Georgiana L. Gheorghe)


Translated into Spanish by Tony Delgadillo

“El Arte De La Poesía Divina”

La imaginación poética
elogia la belleza de la
creación, dando palabras
y voz a toda nación humana.

El poeta siente el pulso
por su impulso poético.
Su corazón de bardo resuena
con sonetos amorosos.

Amando un deletreo poético,
el mortal ordinario se eleva
y se convierte en portal
de poesía divina.

Con pasiones sagradas,
los poetas visten naciones
desnudas. Los bardos, como
santos edificadores, construyen
templos de civilizaciones.

Todos los derechos reservados
© Bhagirath Choudhary
11 de junio de 2020
(Traducción al español
y conversión a prosa: Tony Delgadillo.


Translated into Serbian by Ljiljana Samardžić

Umjetnost Božanstvene Poezije

Pjesnička mašta
Hvali ljepotu stvaranja
Dajući riječi i glas
Svakom ljudskom narodu.

Pjesnik osjeća puls
Svojim pjesničkim impulsom
Bardovo srce odjekuje
Sa voljenim sonetima.

Kad se voljena pjesnička čarolija
Dovoljno uzdigne
Obični smrtnik
Postaje božanstveni portal poezije.

Sa svetim strastima
Pjesnici otmjeno oblače gole narode
Bardovi kao sveti zidari
Grade hramove civilizacije.

Translated from English to Serbian by Ljiljana Samardzic
© Ljiljana Samardzic

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love folklore Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry Series

Tale of Wild Woods: Summer Arrives

When summer finally came, a lot had changed
The last snow melted and the sad land woke
Grasses started growing, covering the outer earth
So those who burrow scrambled out from the dust
Soft airs and tidings surround the mountainside
Sending sweet emissaries around the valley below
Vines, myrrh, mistletoes and pines sprout happily
In the morning, the sunshine will not glitter on ice,
Instead the heat grew and the wood inhabitants felt it
First, the Squirrels thought the world was going crazy
And their cousins, the burrow rats seconded them
‘The frog choir will soon resume’, a brown Cricket observed
‘And if they do I am going to go crazy!’ a Sparrow replied
‘Not if they played on a softer note at least’
A Linnet added to the conversation
‘No way, they have all got bass! Male, female all bass!!’
A sad Bee, which sat on the tip of a tree leaf answered
Now, fresh grass brought the Deers and mountain goats
At the Otherside across the rocky land, the Stream flowed
Leaps of water, joyful that her prisoner had let her free
‘Crap! I mean did anyone notice that the cats are back?’
Some stray mice broke the niches silence
‘They have our land smeared with urine, them Bobcats!’
‘Yes, they think it is their fatherland. Well we better hide’
Now the wolf pack had no cold anymore
So they prowled the earth with more ease
Picking trails of rodents through the thick woods
The Mountain stood, usually a still, motionless figure
One that kept some admirers intrigued
As the ice melted, water trickled down to the land
And the wild wood fauna felt sad for her
For they believed she was weeping at her loss
‘She has been like this since the Ice King left’,
The soft voiced black and white Pigeons sang
‘She is heartbroken! Why will the Ice King be so cruel?
He even took her icy cloak and see, now… now she is naked!’
A duck said closing the eyes of her young with feathers
‘I think she looks pretty amazing, so much joy in pain
No one cares much enough, I think she needs a hug’
A tortoise with a huge shell opined
‘No she needs a gift’, the Wolf pack alpha barked
‘She is the worst person I ever met!’ he added
The other animals had to retreat to their homes
Or if you are too small or slow, just find a hideout
For the wolf pack, the villains of the valley
Had no mercy and they do as their word sound
‘What do we offer her, a fine rose shrub maybe?’
Another wolf suggested as the roses around hid
‘No, well anything. If she continue that way
I bet you the streams will overflow and we will have no land
To hunt, to plunder and to rule!’
‘Well, if being solitary is the best way of getting rid of vermin
Then it is the best shot at self discovery’
The philosophical Woodpecker reasoned from the tree top

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems

Gilded Rays by Robin Bliss

The slender gilded rays
Of Winter sunshine,
Brightens up this room.
Where I sit writing.
Hitting glassy surfaces,
Of bottles,glistening.
Feeling the warmth pleasantly,
Warming my arms and legs.

Your love my dearest,
Is just as these beams.
For your sweet tenderness has,
Lightened up my dullness,
And the warmth of your,
Gentleness has captivated me,
And melted the cold,coldness;
That was within me,
And I rejoice.

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love haiku love poems nature poems Poetry

Haiku: Home

Night fall dreams
A ride through moonshine
Home may tell tales

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love lifestyle Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry

Path to Harvest – Poem

Joy is fruit blossomed in the heart of farmers
Their smiles are meshed with toil and sweat,
Patch of earth print upon their faces
And on shoulders they carry huge baskets
Marching towards the fields, when it is harvest…

Fields are ripe, and trees are heavy with fruit
Birds sing from tree tops, monkeys dance it out
Evergreen forest is alive, farmers walk their path
Marching through mist, grass, and animal dung
The morning path led through cool streams,
Farmers may stoop to have a taste of water
Which smell like a mixture of dust and dew
The path led the farmers deeper into forest land,
Where shrubs are scanty, trees more numerous,
With thriving bird colonies, Nature’s secret hives
Bamboo forests stand aghast, daring the farmers
Waterfalls drop water balls which bounce off rocks
Once, they arrived the plantation, work must begin
When they sang of places, far far away
Where wheat are gold and cow milk immaculate,
They whistle country music while they gather grain
At last harvest became a pile waiting to go home

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love education lifestyle nature poems opinion

Poets Corner: What Is Beauty?

JUST A LITTLE STORY
Let me tell you a little story. I remember a picture story of a man that sat close to a girl in a park. The first image portrayed the man as ugly, dressed in unbuttoned black shirt, with all manner of rings, deep scars and tattoos. The pretty girl was dressed in angelic white gown with curly hair. Now both had one hand behind their backs so that no one could see what they held. People (including myself) admired this lovely girl (and oh my, she was cute). On another image their hands were revealed. The raggedy man held a bunch of flowers and the pretty girl had a sharp knife. The knife made me rethink how lovely I previously thought she was. Looks are deceit.

WHAT BEAUTY IS TO ME

Beauty is everything that makes someone or a thing pleasing, attractive or fine. To me beauty goes beyond the physical. To some it may just be things they see or feel. Blue clouds, sunset, corn fields, white beaches, red lips or moon shine may appeal to sight. Yes they are natural things we feel or see. Another person may look at them as common and nothing special. Everyone has a viewpoint. When I admire flowers that grow by the roadside, it may just be a weed to someone else. Beauty is when we see things differently. An Indian actor said that “Beauty is in the eyes of the beer-holder.” I agree but one may not need a beer to see.


I love it when poets discuss issues. I and Adekunle Ridwan VW moderated on the topic and compiled what poets has to say. I hope you enjoy this.

WHAT IS BEAUTY?

Rose Marie Raccioppi says that beauty are WORDS… Letters that call to be sounded, silent ones in support… and so BEAUTY calls to Being, Exchange, Aspiration, Unity, Truth, Yielding to the grace of creation. Be this known heart to heart. The petals of a flower, the fingers of a hand… Beauty in its manifestation, in its giving. Maxwell Rae says it’s seeing beyond the flesh of anything and seeing the beauty in everything.

Ricky Guiang said beauty is calmness and serenity. Beau Blanchard says it is a recognition of peace and comfort in and with another individual. Ashley Yelhsa has this to say, “Beauty is the magnifying radiance and essence of all things good and pleasant with a hug and a kiss of grace with Its loving kind and gentle nature. It’s the sweet savoury of all things pleasant and good.” Theo Perry says “a Poet’s perception to beauty is a line of being genuine, a display of confidence, a portray of positive love. Each one entails more to please with a smile.”

Cathy Deslippe aptly put it thus: “To some beauty is what you see. To others it’s a scent. The sound of a child’s laughter. A gift you haven’t opened yet. For me beauty is the opportunity, to write poetry.” Bella Michel puts it thus: “Little details. Small moments. Genuine emotions. Spectating on large events and taking in the details as an observer. Silence is beauty. Solace is beauty.”

C. J. Mitchell has it that beauty is whatever intrigues and inspires the soul in any given moment. Esther Cenat said beauty is subjective. Left to interpretation. Barbara Newman said that beauty is colours. Rich Granvold opined “Beauty is what is seen with the eyes of our hearts.” R. Paul Howell said beauty is transparency.

David Gammon has this to say, “beauty can be many things to us. For me personally, it is a space, an area of nature. Rolling hills and valleys. A sunrise, the smell of wet ground after a shower. To me, beauty is defined in words and actions. If I meet someone on my rounds that isn’t obliquitious and judgemental, then that is beautiful. I have met people who look pretty outside, but inside have nothing but bullshit to offer. You know the sort, the one that will bad-mouth you.
Some of the best people I have ever met and known in my 50 years existence have had mental illness or not been good looking. I embrace our imperfections, because that is what makes us human.” He went further: “Beauty is defined not in the fine lines of a careless whisper, but in the actions of one.” Kami Velasquez supported, “Beauty is the gift of giving with no thought for anything in return.”

“Life itself is proper definition of beauty. With all its ups and downs, happiness and sorry… because one side is always incomplete. And what can be more complete than life.” Pranaj Raj. Mattie Green says “Beauty is in everything I see, live and breathe it. Beauty is what the eyes cannot truly see it’s a healing that took place before life and even after death it’s a beauty that no one can see. It’s an aroma. It’s a taste and see with your mouth lips and tongue. It’s as refreshing as the morning light and as beautiful as itself is indeed. Beauty has no definition but can be defined by others.”

R. J. Williams believe that there’s no one correct universal answer. “To some, beauty is a flower with a bee pollinating it. To Jeffrey Dahmer type people, beauty is dismembered body parts on a dinner table.” Read A. Paul Owens, “Beauty is everything that inspires any kind of lust. From sexual to just. Beauty raised 10,000 armies and rode peace on 10,000 sunsets. Beauty is living each day in the moment with the absence of regrets. Beauty is making love to someone you can’t live without. With every orgasm growing greater the absence of doubt. Beauty is the innocents in a childs mind. As they fulfill their dreams playing with toys they find.”

To Ugomma Ezewuiro, beauty is simply life! While Hitendra Kumar Shrivas said beauty is Nature, nothing else. Sameh Ibrahim quipped that beauty is being. Dom Capobianco offered that beauty is just a human concept. Nancy Melendez says it is authenticity and Bethan Williams called it truth. Charlotte Gunning’s offered that “it is not a shape but a mindset and the best indicator of it is self confidence.” Elizabeth Folsy says it’s that which makes the heart sing.

Kristine Perito’s idea goes with mine. She said “Simply put, beauty is different things to different people.” Vanda Kudlackova said beauty is being yourself. To end Millie Richie Kiefer says it is everything and nothing!

FEATURED POEMS ON BEAUTY

Mike Noxaura

A baby cooing.
A star going nova.
The smile of a bride.
The blush of a teenage boy.
The laughter, unafraid of a grandma
The solid advice of a grandpa.
The wind in the trees
A tiger on the hunt.
The smell of sage and sweet grass burning in a sweat lodge.
The peyote and ayahuasca visions.
Fresh grilled veggies.
Laying in the arms of love.
A healthy poop.
A cold glass of lemonade on a hot summer’s day.
Children playing.

What is beauty?
Life in action, but just contemplation.

Bryan Perkins c/o L. N. O.

The currency of the mind
In my eyes
It’s the flaws that drive me crazy,
To me the true beauty of a woman is in her flaws,
That’s what distinguishes her from the all rest
Every man desires a beautiful woman
But no man desires a flawless woman
And when you find that woman
And fall in love with her flaws,
You have then found a flawless woman
Imperfection is everyone’s
Most brutally beautiful feature
So thank you,
For being perfect,
Not for the world,
But perfect for me

Anju Kalra Sethi

Thank you dear God
For down by my sidewalk
Under the shining Sun
I saw a pretty little purple butterfly
It stirred me up
In stillness I grew and encountered the hidden me in mine
Underneath layers and layers of shields and swords to linger on
to the thought I dwelled in
Caressing love leaf twinned pines and roses
Further more
While I kept the walking feet the pretty creature fathomed
Filled me with more some love
Thank you might today tomorrow be let it .
Listen memories in this moment I am fine

Adekunle Ridwan VW

What’s beauty?

The world of creation;

The gentle smile of a little child.
The sparking of the stars and glimmering sunshine.
The radiant colours of the rainbow.
The grace that flows from a river that never runs dry.
The sweet melodious song emanating from the skylark.
The abyss of the ocean.

What’s beauty?

The smile;

So tender
Contagious
Captivating
Heart melting
Crystal clear.

What’s beauty?

The words;

Soothing
Appealing
Pacifying
Alluring
Enchanting.

What’s beauty?

A virtue;

Love
Kindness
Honesty
Respect
Forgiveness.

Beauty is

A great phenomenon;
Indescribable
Unending
Immeasurable
Overwhelming

The world is beauty!
The heaven is beauty!!
God is beauty!!!


So what comes to your mind when you hear the word beauty? Have a great day.

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love Nature nature poems Nigeria

Reflection: The Virus and China

Not so cuddly thought…

As I lay on my bed I had a thought. A thought that actually provoked many questions. Maybe someone can help me understand these issues better if my opinion does not reflect reality. This is the first reflection on racism, the next will be on Africa. NB: I speak for people, and not governments.

China, Oh China!

I love China. Yes I do. I love Jackie Chan. I love the funny movie Shaolin Soccer where football became a whole new form of thuggery. I’ve several Chinese friends on Facebook and WordPress. I’m amazed at their creativity and industry. I’m amused each time Chinese movies portray people performing martial arts mid air (honestly is that even possible?) I watch Chinese comedy too. My geography classes taught that there are a lot of people in China – that it is the country with highest people population. I read about the Great Wall of China in high school and how it kept bandits and China’s political enemies away. I know a little about the culture and dynasties, language, technology and cities. We sure have a beautiful world and history, don’t we? Talking about Chinese cities; I admire Hong Kong and Macao the most. I can say that they are European flavour in a Chinese soup. Maybe that’s a silly metaphor. The capital city Beijing is so big that it could take in the total population of my home state! There are many big cities like Shanghai and Guangzhou. There are other beautiful things to see in China. Apart from the serene countryside, numerous flowers, rivers, mountains, lakes, and more abound. I’ve seen videos of this beautiful land. I love China indeed.

But…

But I won’t forget Wuhan. No one will forget the city in a hurry. But it’s just a name like New York. Wuhan has engraved itself in the hearts of so many. So history will remember her for the disastrous gift. Let me be plain, the corona virus pandemic started there.

Why the pandemic may have originated from Wuhan, I can’t see this scenario: the local fishermen packaging contaminated food to be shipped abroad. I agree that human interaction helped in spreading the virus. But people won’t deliberately export this virus. People might be innocent. I can’t say that for any government.

I can’t conclude that every Chinese is responsible for the pandemic. That’s quite unfair. I mean we can hold the government and policy makers responsible. Every economic sanction, sabotage or revenge will affect innocent people too, just as the virus ravage distant places. The bad guys are in every nation. We know them.

I deliberately avoided the bad sides of this great nation. I could have mentioned human rights violations, racism against foreigners (will talk more on this later), cruelty to wild and domestic life and labour camps. Let’s face it, every nation has a history, good and bad, just and unjust. But I’m no judge.

For those calling for blood or revenge, there’s absolutely no need for that. The common enemy now is the virus and it’s leading a global warfare. We’ve lost a lot already to it. This is time to stop the blame game and racist attitude. We need China, the same way we need Africa and America and Europe and every other nation on earth. Some governments do not represent public opinion.

Diversity is strength. I prefer to see the good side of every nationality. I only pray that one day the bad guys will have no stake in our political future.

This is just a humble reflection. Have a good night.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry

And So I Fly by Robin Bliss

When I am
Downtrodden.
Trampled into the mud.
Deserted by all.
Misunderstood.
Left for dead.
Despised.
Forgotten.

You! My beloved,
Are there for me.
Your love,
Lifts me up.
Rising above,
The mud and mire.
Your love is,
Unending,
And I fly.

Soaring on Gossamer
Wings so high.
You never let me down,
And I fly,
Far, far above,
All troubles and cares.
Into the realms,
Eternal I go.

Drifting upwards.
Into the infinite,
Eternal love.
Love that embraces all.

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love lifestyle love poems Nature nature poems

Sunlight – Poetale of Gratitude

Why am I so happy to see the sun rise and smell her sweet fragrance? I may not explain exactly, but this is why.

Before now I slept like a log, snoring away, unconscious to the world’s drama. Nocturnal creatures crept, birds hoot. The night is innocently quiet but may have consumed many. My windows are open, the whistling pines sang a lullaby. Soft rain drum the rooftop. Pata-pata was her fair rhythm. The wind accompanied the rhythm with an invisible guitar, addressing my bed. Cool breeze rent, blowing kisses, caressing man who slept. It wooed man to dreamland, where he could see beautiful things. All these while, I am man, bones and flesh, helpless only to Providence and her benevolence.

The sun’s glamour lit the skies, it woke man. Golden rays filter through the curtain, a welcome to new day. Blue clouds wait outside, there the green field lay wet with dew. Grasshoppers, beetles and crickets play in them. When stick insects fly, their zithering wings create a tune. Termites are busy moving their quarry. Mantises cling like monkeys to tree leaves. Trees are calm, resting from the long cold night. Squirrels play up their branches, the wind their surfboard. Egrets, pigeons, turtle doves, skylarks, bluebirds and others enjoy the fresh air. Their cries fill the horizon with hope, they spoke of gratitude and joy, of seeing a new day. Grey and brown mushrooms sprout, squeezing out of earth little umbrella citadels for ants. Some shaped like the anthill down the road. Bright flowers dance in the morning breeze. They are dressed in different schools: white and purple, green and yellow, red and pink, or blue and orange. Their stalks a perfectly sewn uniform, each glamouring in her pretty dress. The canopy of green grass expands each morning. There’s carpet grass, mother nature’s rug. There’s the guinea grass, tall enough to hide bugs and worms. Butterflies roam the garden, sunlight behind their back. Tree leaves fall in circles, to meet the wind at the foot of trees. A stronger wind gladly sweeps them all over the garden – a queer rollercoaster without wheels. Yet sunlight came in installments, watching over all.

I have a friend who checks on my window each morning. She admires herself at the glass mirror. From the other side I laugh at her fluffy beauty. Straight beak sitting on a funny face. Two agile broom-like legs holding a big body. Those legs, a perfect weightlifter, just that it lacked muscle. Black feathers, white underbellies – a reminder of me whenever I wore a black suit. ‘But why are you so pretty every morning?‘ I wonder. I smell the flowers that live not far away. Hibiscus and Flamboyant, different colours, many scents. Strength in diversity. But colour has no scent. The wet clay smell nice too, in it the bull frog family live. The garden is a big theatre – a world of its own. If I ever knew the winds tune, I will sing with her. She sang slowly, sometimes high, other times low-pitch. So I hum in my heart and whistle when I am overwhelmed. I write a song in my mind. I will let the later morning hear it and trust that she keeps my tune secret.

I am grateful for the song on the roof. For those little angels disguised as birds that wake me. For the cool breeze that makes sleep enjoyable. For night rains that sing me a lullaby. For the green garden and her flourishing faun and flora. For dew that wet my foot when I walk through the green grass. For the insects and birds that greet the morning with a beautiful song. For the love, joy, peace and hope that comes with each bright morning. Gratitude is still the best attitude.

Do you now see why I am happy when I see sunlight? For me, to live is to be grateful.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems Nature nature poems opinion Pastoral Poetry

I am Poetry

I am needle, needless of pain, driving through fabric, to create a happy stitch,

I am dance, sometimes something sane, twists and turns, breaking within or without,

I am fury, memories may wane, trust on mere ink and paper, pale but yet transparent

I am innocence, a cry too soon, living for the weak, suns glam and joyous warmth

I am poetry, needle for needless pain, innocent cry not heard, dance within sanity and fury of many spirits


Happy Father’s day 👪

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems nature poems Poetry rhyme

Poets Corner: Why is Poetry Less Popular?

HOW I CAME TO LOVE POETRY

As an introverted teen I found solace in writing. All my thought was written in form of poetry. I also wrote poetry for my faculty and student magazines. Fast forward to many years, I submitted my first story and poetry to two different competitions. I didn’t make the shortlist for the short story contest but made third place in a National Poetry competition! Since then I decided to focus more on poetry. I made Google my friend and looked up local and international writing competitions. There were many story writing (prose) contests split into fiction and non fiction with huge cash prizes! The same went for drama competitions with mouth-watering prizes, but this was not the case for poetry. I mean there are poetry contests out there but few offered good prize money.

MY OPINION

That little story of mine formed the basis for my argument that poetry is not as popular as other literary genres. I won’t draw only from my experience. So I decided to engage my friends and mentors on long discussions. I also stayed late nights in many Poetry Groups to brainstorm with other poets. At the end I was able to collate some of their thoughts. I will share them here.

OTHERS OPINION

My first contact was Diego Donati, who believes that “to appreciate poetry you need to be sensitive and speak from the heart. And not many people are like that.” Mark Priestly provided a similar answer to Diego’s with a rhetorical question, “Because it only appeals to the poetic?” I thought so too. But must one be poetic to accept poetry? Soumya Naik supported Mark’s position as he believed that only poetic minds can understand the emotions in a poem.

My friend Steve Stone believes that good poetry makes people think and most are too lazy to be bothered with that.

“I think partially because it doesn’t get as much exposure because it doesn’t sell as well as the other genres. I think that might have to do with Rock and Roll becoming popular in the mid-50’s. Again with Rap and Hip Hop exploding on the music scene in the early 80’s. If there’s no market for it no one is going to promote so less people are going to discover it and read it.” Steve Howard aptly put.

Sarah Mulqueen quipped, “It doesn’t have to be written ‘correctly’, it has a law all of it’s own which I know drives my mother crazy.”

“I would have to say because it is often ambiguous and open to more than one interpretation. My cure for that is to write using common language in uncommon ways.” Tate Morgan supported. Kiran Sharan has this to say: “Perhaps because it’s much more difficult to encapsulate your feelings or thought processes in a few lines as compared to prose where you can ramble on and on unless of course you’re writing an Iliad an Odyssey a Mahabharata or a Paradise Lost.”

August Hill was more radical in his approach. “People are too stupid to understand metaphors and symbolism, they fall asleep with the rhythm if a poem is well done because instead of listening their mind can’t concentrate that much, honestly I’d argue mostly they just hear the rhymes. That’s my take actually.”

He went further to elaborate. “For what it’s worth the other day I was looking for a poetry circle in my city. Figured I’d look on the paper and internet and all I could find was articles about “Is poetry a dead art in my country.” So I’m not as optimistic as all the folks that say that poetry is up there. Plus if you look at it historically most poets that were historically and literary consequential died in complete poverty, mistreated by their society to the point of starving to dead, dying of disease or being chased away by their family. So this isn’t something new.

In the words of the French poet Baudelaire, “A poem never was worth bread.” I think it’s because of the abstract nature of poetry, a good poem is worthless because it cannot have a price on it, not because it is mind feaces, but because literally a good poem is world changing, and nobody could ever own a gift to humanity. Which is precisely the nature of poetry.” I agree with this. He went further.

“It’s not that poverty is part of the life of a poet, it’s just that we are forced into it and we find peace of mind through poetry. I’d say, if you wanna make money definitely don’t try to do it through poetry, now if you want to glance behind the veil of reality or if you have a message for the world, that’s a good motivation for poetry. You’ll be disappointed if you seek wealth through it, but if you know you seek something greater you’ll never be disappointed and you probably will reach it without even noticing it. People around you will tell you, you made it, and it will mean more than all the money in the world.

At the same time I wrote hundreds of poems, and what I noticed is that if you really want to write, you must write to write, not write for fame, not for money, not even for recognition… at best if you find kindred spirits you can share. But even then poems are not meant to be understood by a reader the way a poet writes.” August concluded.

“From my point of view (I am not dismissing how you see it) well admired is a bit of a stretch. I think people who like and admire poetry are few and far between and they might feel like it’s well admired because perhaps they see it more in their own lives. I feel like If I think about the entire country, football would be well admired and poetry, liked by some.” Emily Simmance said.

Akua Daps has this to say, “I think part of it is that people have lost the appreciation for the beauty of its interpretation. People want to be shown and told how to view it. Ex. Descriptive books and movies. Vs. How poetry takes your mind on a journey. People aren’t taught the literary tools to dissect poetry like back in the day.”

Luke Fallow has this to say, “Because a certain type of poetry has been perpetuated which is really self indulgent and depressing, so people assume all poetry is just writing about how sad you are.”

In the words of Steve Anc, “People prefer direct communication, but poets had twisted that already.
Therefore, they are confused.” Benjamin Davis supports this “It takes almost as much skill to read and comprehend it as it does to write it.” Cassandra Cassy added that “It’s more difficult to understand both in meaning and language. It seems boring to readers.”

For Michael Walsh poetry is a mystery for most people. “I mean, we do have the quite simple poem written about a simple subject, and anyone reading it is quite certain of what it is about.

On the other hand, we have a number of different types of poetry. Some almost never to be understood properly, and often no real idea about what it is about. I suppose in that regard, poetry is very similar to Paintings and Drawings. To some a simply painting is beautiful, whilst some you have to stand in your head with one eye closed, and still not get it. I think the ability to read poetry is probably a much harder skill than it is to write it.

In all of these matters we are talking about not just cerebral pursuits, but also entertainment. And people being entertained do not usually like to work too hard. For then, it is no longer entertainment, but work; and often very hard work. And people do not expect to have work to be entertained; those two for most people are diametrically opposed. People like to see and feel what is going on, and in the broad field of reading and writing, most prefer a good novel to read. It is there in front of you, and is relaxingly simple. Poetry, in a very general sense, is not easy, and it can be very hard or even impossible to understand. So what is the point? There is the adventure poem. I will refer here to poem about a horse in Australia. Not last century now, but the one before. Two movies about it. “The Man From Snowy River”. This is a long poem. Literally, a novel in a poem. It has an upbeat feel to it, some uncommon language, but by the end if it, you feel like you have ridden the horse. The poem literally gallop along. By the end, the heart is pumping, the breathing fast. You knew what you had done. One of my favourite forms of poetry.

And let’s face it, some poetry does absolutely nothing for me, and I love poetry.”

Ahmed Jouini gave a support response. “It’s less popular because it requires more effort from the audience than the other genres: in cinema you have everything in front of you; in music you can just zone out and keep listening as long as there is a catchy beat or some rhymes etc. This is just one of the reasons.” Abraham Conneh added further, “Poetry is either appreciated or not depending on people’s perception of it. If fuel and spiced well with some visual lay minds grasped its value. More exposure may get people to consider its value.” Also John Green has this to say, “The fact is, many people want something that is 100% tangible, direct, and doesn’t require thinking in the abstract with multiple meanings being possible.”

Nola Alvaro quipped that “Poetry is to be savoured in small amounts like the finest of wines.”

Marrero has this to say, “Cause people just don’t like to express themselves. Poets are realists. Most people ain’t. And not only that, but I believe it goes by generation. This generation is too distracting. Too many things going on around us. This is the era of modern technology, and mind altering substances. The list goes on, but you get my point.”

Colin Ward‘s opinion: “There are a number of reasons why English language poetry was entirely subsumed by song lyrics during the 20th century. Copyright law began the decline, the pseudointelligensia’s fascination with cryptocrap accelerated it, and the education system administered the coup de grâce when it ceased teaching its elements”

Ch’erie de Perrot‘s view is that lyrics for songs are written from poetry, tweaked of course to avoid copyright. “We are the inspiration of many authors, musicians, directors and movie producers. Alas, the underpaid brilliance behind so much, but for the love of it all, we keep going, and laugh when we see a slogan even on an advertisement… Smile to self.”

Tia Papillion agreed with my opinion. “A lot of non poets only seek poetry and interested by it till they actually need it or reach that point. A lot of people would rather go to get a love book v/s reading a love poem they don’t understand. Of course don’t have to be about love, but a lot of people think that’s all poetry is good for.”

‘OTHERWISE POETS’

Some poets like Benjamin Allhands thought otherwise because “Popular and or return on investment is difficult. Unless you self publish getting a book off is hard. Some spend decades trying.” Also James Horton argued that “there are elements of poetry in other literary genre.” I totally agree.

When Jay McDaid gave his opinion, it was completely otherwise. “That is simply untrue. It’s well liked. What you are thinking of is the fact that people are less likely to purchase poetry books. That happened when pulp fiction became the common denominator rather than the lowest. One need only drop into a gift card shop to see how popular the primitive verse is.”

Godswill Iren argued further; “That’s not true. Poetry comes first in the origin of the genres. Drama came through festivals and rehearsals which became adopted as a form of entertainment. But before that poetry existed through folklores and chants from praise singers. Songs and epic stories told in poetry form was the original work before other forms like prose developed.” Pretty insightful, right?

Haider Farooq opined that “Poetry is the fundamental reason of creations. Poetry is most popular. Even we like to listen to songs not fiction. We read fiction and sing poetry.” When I asked him why publishers prefer other genres. He replied “Please be informed that I’m not opposing other genres however, the publisher is a business man so he accommodates all.”

Kim Fleming bluntly disagreed. “I don’t agree! Poetry is usually about love it is the most exalted art form! Most of all religious scriptures of the world are in part or in whole poetry, and most song lyrics are poetry, look at how important love poetry is in religion and in song. Humankind has a natural desire to express the most exalted truth in verse and many songs are religious in theme. Personally I love Neil Diamond. He is my favourite singer/songwriter! I practically worship this guy. No matter who you are you have a favourite singer/ songwriter, I’ll wager!”


Knowledge is power, knowledge shared is power multiplied. – Robert Noyce.

That’s it for today at Poets’ Corner. What’s your opinion?

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love folklore lifestyle Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry quotes

Lullaby: Tale of the young Shepherdess

I will tell you a rhyme of the shepherdess who loved her sheep,

She lives in the country and could sing her community to sleep

Twinkle went stars nested far up the pregnant black sky,

When black clouds float, the gathering rain storm sigh,

“It will rain, but it might wait a little,” the young shepherdess prayed

She saw the stars disappear from the midst of black clouds

So quickly she led her tired sheep through the barn door

“Up you go, up you go, quickly climb up the dry hay, up you go”

She took the lamb up the higher stairs where a big lamp hung

The little ones nuzzle, when the shepherdess struck up a song

The country was not so far away, everyone could hear her sing,

And how she sang heartily, that the hamlet relaxed with the eerie wind

Suddenly a stronger wind blew and gave the little community a cold push

“Ah, it’s perfectly monstrous weather,” she said when it gave another swoosh

“I must retire before the storm catch me here,” the shepherdess exclaimed

“But tell me what you will like to see in your beautiful dreams,” she asked

And so because they won’t speak or maybe know nothing to say

They only looked on, blinked sheepishly, then maaa-aa away

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love love poems Nature nature poems reflection

Peace: Declare war on War

Let storms clap and rain fall heavily
To wash fields free of blood & grease
Let snow clog boots & war machines
Let air blow deadly fighter jets off
So darkness may turn to green fields & blue skies again
Let the world know undiluted peace
When Nature declares war on War!


I pray for peace in our lives, communities and societies, and in all nations on Earth.

Categories
lifestyle Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry

Morning Wind

Morning wind, crisp smell,
Moist dew, sun rise, beautiful land
Take it all in and live in it,
Inhale deeply before it’s gone

Categories
Africa lifestyle Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry

African Dawn

**

Slope of pointed hills
Black against the horizon
Threat the sun with its fierce thrust
As thin clouds streak across the sky

**

Cloud underbellies glow reddish hue
Morning warmth fight the heady moon
Wide plains stretched, savannah grass paradise
Sometimes lonely trees stand with yellow grass

Ancient, raw, scattered lights slowly gather
The city below, hills stand guard like a soldier
Listen now, the Tsetse cause morning stress
But the heat will send her away with its grease
The road are shaded by thick groves of eucalyptus and vine
Nearby, human settlement; houses, huts are intertwined

Smell of ripe fruit romance the market pathway
Tomatoes gutted, grapes squashed on the clay
And when the hills let the sun rise above them
It is gold- unexplainable, like a budding worm

Again, when the humble morning rise from her sleep
The sun will rise from lands of the unknown deep
Smiling at the town she left for her solitary slumber
Yet she leaves all; fauna, flora to gracefully wonder

Now there is light, the brown Earth bright
And on all things old, the sun shines her gold

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love Nature nature poems Pastoral Poetry

Palm Tree

Beautiful ornament, guardian of my land
I salute you gladiator,
My great warrior!
Your strong fronds are high
To shade the village from heat,
You stand on those ancients hills
A pillar rooted deep into earth,
Little forests grow, here and there,
You tower over all, trees and fauna,
But yet a citadel for great and small,
You gather a parliament over our hamlet,
Where you precede as king of all
Stretching your kindness across valleys,
Your roots are seats for farmers
It provides succour for travelers,
It is said that you are close to skies
Because you must keep her from falling,
So I now know why they treat you as a deity
Ancient as hills that you tower over, a tree-god

Categories
Africa Africa, Poetry and Love lifestyle love poems Nature nature poems Nigeria Pastoral Poetry

Orie Market Day

It’s Orie day here. Orie is a big market day in Isuikwuato. Everybody will be heading to the market to trade. People from different places buy and sell here. I walk through the quiet hills to get some fresh air and pick some flowers.

Thankfully I have the quiet road to myself. I also have imagined poems for these majestic hills and diverse flora. There’s a deep pond close by, it gave a sweet smell of dry clay mixed with water. I will pass. I am not a fan of ponds.

I have noticed new farms. I have seen several farmers till their fertile land. I helped tie up yams and process cassava. These past few days I have only eaten fresh vegetable and fruits grown here. I will seldom see fresh food in town.

This is one of the hills sheltering Umukwu Amune, Ovim. There are more just around the bend. This explains why it’s cold all morning and night. During noon time, the sun is hot. As I write, I sit under thick foliage to listen to different birds and draft down poems. Indeed nothing compares to quiet places. Stay tuned for more poems.