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.

Africa culture/tradition folklore Igbo culture Nature Nigeria

Home: Africa

High up above the hills of Africa, the dark winged clouds of night were still folded above the village and surrounding valley. Man and the domestic animals that were his, slept. But the antelope of the forest and the small fleet-footed gazelle, were wide awake.

In a short time, early morning dew descend from ancient hills. Darkness play with light. Dancing figures of thick fog conceal their fight and the good or bad that wait for strangers. Huge trees stand like knights armed with branches and shield-like barks, their huge roots like the fingers of a masquerade waiting to grab their victim. Farther away, creatures of the dark retreat back to their caves and hideouts. Light must not befall them. Hunters retrace their step home.

When the sun rise, she threw her golden blanket over the land. Hills rise with it waking the inhabitants of green forest and man. Down the valley, birds began a chorus, strong enough to wake the heaviest sleeper. Bees, wasps buzz, crickets, hoppers quiz, and reptiles hiss, every life has got a role to play. There is joy and peace. Joy that comes with a beautiful sunny day. Peace that brought harmony between man and nature which he call home.

From afar pretty images of green submerged in bowels of earthly grey decorate the hilly scene. Smell of flowing stream rent the air above. Hawks call to the sunrise welcoming daylight, bush rodents nibble at cassava roots. The forest turn to a circus where Nature play her own tricks. Tree leaves shade the streams, so when fruits fall into the water little fishes scatter in excitement or fear. Waterfalls and huge rocks watch the quiet green below. Shy crabs watch too, amused and drunk with water. It is quiet in the morning but for birds building big nests in the forest. Few people went to the stream and farm. Little girls swept their compounds, older girls weaved baskets, little boys sat with their fathers, older boys visited traps and mischievous pets ran about playing. Up the trees monkeys muse picking fruits from trees. Little babies yell while mothers gather materials for breakfast. Fathers chew their kola or take tobacco snuff, as they prepare to visit farms. Weekend was a holiday and the villagers knew best to keep it so.

When the sun heat become mild, the play stage is set. Children roll out their games; football, cricket, chase, wrestling, high jump, sand games and more. Women visit their friends or market to buy provisions. Some men go to the beer parlor. The morning brew was ready and they must attend to it. Palm wine was healthy and fresh ones taste better than water. Many youth wait for noon to bath at streams and waterfalls.

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Evening was the best time for reflection. Old men and women sat quiet, reflecting on the hills they call home. Sunset brought memories of the days stress. It brought home the market women, the farmer and fishermen. When the sun set, hills throw their warm shadow of comfort upon vales and the village. Birds fly home, greeting the evening as they go, lizards seek refuge on cracks and holes while owls prowl seeking a quick snack. Scent of cooking rent the air and children challenge each other over the hut with the best smell. Sweet vegetable soup adorned with periwinkle, snail, crabs and crawfish sit on dinner tables under the full glare and admiration of children and adults. Cold water from traditional pots or freshly fetched from the spring sit closer to the dishes. Providence knew many ways to appease the hard worker, good food was one of it. The night may have a folktale if the mood was right. Life could be simple and sophisticated still.

After evening came the cold night. Dew return, the path is lost in thick fog. Night was nobody’s friend. Quietly lights go out in the valley. Sleep was next play for children and adult, yet the ancient hills slept before everyone, forever. As the village sleep, creatures of the night walk. But man and day must retire back home, to start the cycle all over again tomorrow.

Africa Poetry Uncategorized

Muse: Swift Stream

The blue stream flow swift
Three patient toads sit aghast
Waiting for the current to pass


Evening of tales under the Mango tree

Mild breezes welcome the evening

As clouds sail, birds fly away

No one is happier than the hamlet children

For them, it was a time to travel,

Time to travel through stories,

Time to see places

And time to put the days burden off


Pile of tree leaves serve as seats

Children go about, searching for nice spots

To sit…

On their way, they pick handful of leaves

Some gather more than they need,

Maybe for their friends or siblings

The evening wind talked of a coming rain

But the children knew the evenings tricks

When finally she came around,

The old story teller with her walking stick

Everyone sat down,

The only sound will be the creaky stool

Which the story teller tried to sit on


With a warm smile she welcomed all
Then she broke into a common song

And the children sang happily with her

This was their moment and when the tales began

Half of them slept on their siblings laps

Dreaming away, of those places granny told of,

Of lands far away, where golden wheat grow,

Of places where grapes are coated in sugar,

Of lands where grows great flower fields,

With the sun painting shadows of them

So that the shadows look like scarecrows

Now, they dream also of chocolates, fruits

Of everything that can make a child happy

They dream of places where girls laugh when they dance in farm barns

And the trees drop all sweet candies


But then, each evening of tales

Grows each childs fantasy

And act as a sweet lullaby


The Castle called a man’s Heart

Have you heard or seen the dens or prisons where free men were kept? 

If not, let me tell you about it, about the little details which no man told

First, those men put their trusts in imaginations and false hopes 

Clinging to the mirror, others casted for them for self discovery

The colors they see are crazy, the views about the future vague

Painted illusions, thoughts of what-would-be light the heart

Giving a moment of hope in the Castle’s rooms, that is how it began

Hope threw charcoaled sickles up the spiky ceilings and spikes fall

Thorns weave their way out of creepy mistletoes, as wrinkled roses shrunk

When a ghost pass, her breeze push over the old tray, tumbling the ashes

And when the old clock chimed the hour zero, strange figures came to trade, 

Pricing their wares- fear, sailing through the wind like a piece of paper!

At all corners, spider webs generously stood to greet any newcomer, 

The soot from ages of Chimney burns design the walls with grim ferocity

Black hues, some on the floor, some seeming like a reddened blood patch

Also the windows were not spared, the beauty could be seen ages past

At the end of each hall, rat colonies thrive, with lots of hay and dust

In the dark evening, the night lit up with fireflies scaling the ceiling

Dancing to unheard music, blinking their lights at ghostly galleries 

No, no one, but few would actually see the imagery that lived there, 

The blood of prisoners of war, their cries and sputum and mangled flesh, 

Innocent sighs, disillusioned spirits, become a great piece of disappointment

Now men live in various castles created in their heart of hearts

The taste of defeat lure the endless stream of men to those castles

Forcing some to accept Destiny, as their only mentor and citadel 

Those who knew the tricks played by the heart of hearts of men

Will chose to stand just outside the Castle’s walls to see more



Colors are very beautiful
They tell a lot about all;
And a little about this and that
The ocean, the sun
The mice that live across
The busy street roads
Or the golden corn field
And the wild, the deserts
And the ice of Antarctica
Colors describe our feelings
Red with rage
The royal purple…

Each day wakes with colors
Take the flowers as an example,
Some grow so pale like the purple
And some, like the blessed color of harvest
Gold, the suns’ face upon a field of wheat

The soft and mild wind move about, quietly
Up the great green trees where the pretty birds live
And on the grey soil where the mushrooms thrive
But none is able to paint her till this day
Why? I wonder, but none can truly say

Okay let us paint a color, a fair one
Just any color which comes to mind
Flaunt the blues, make a little mound
Of nice sweet dreamy hue of orange
With a bunch of hogs walking to forage

Okay, let us talk about the eye hues
About the red that signifies danger
And the blood-shot eyes of the Hyena
Brown, that makes all images muddy
And to me seems a lot more nasty

What if there was a color of feelings?
Now let us try to paint a color of love
Like a surge of water upon the wharf
How amazing it is to add a drop of ruby
A humble hue, just for you and me?


Amuse: The Hen’s tale

First she walks for a while and then turns to stare…
She cackles, laughing at the appearance of these slim aliens
Wandering about, aimlessly, pushing all manner of carts 
And wearing all manner of fleshy things that smell awful
One thing is peculiar: these humans change their skins each day,
And it is unclear why a green skin will change to purple the next day
Although some will keep their skin for weeks, but those who did
Maybe are related to the green snake which lives by the pond 
Now I look at you petty human
And I think you are ridiculous
Walking shabbily on two legs,
Having no feather or plumage,
Having no wings or beak
But a big round balloon as head
And a goofy rude look as face!


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.







First Words of P’Ville, SummerTown 2

                     images                       Summer had a lake which shone with the sun light

The shivering of the waters were seen even in the nights

By the roadside were carts drove were green and yellow flowers

And at some corners of the streets the crimson Rose stood taller

Than the street fencing which was immaculately painted white

From the vales down the road Summers castles on hills stood in sight

A part of the city harbored caves which the lost made their abode

Summers had villains, criminals who obeyed a Frog in the Woods

Swamps hid the other remnants of villains and burglars

Summers beauty reflected not on her inhabitants but on her clement weather

When it rained, it was more like melted sweet creams

So the city looked up to more creamy rain storm with glee

The Diamond Lake gave the town a feel of sea

And down the Burrows, Agui the cock  lived

…to be continued





First Words of P’Ville, SummerTown


When the Winter Witch got tired of the warmth
Which the fine golden sun brought
She decided to leave the sunny, pitiful city
And with her she took all her trinkets and jewellery
Then she would stare across the vast wild Oat fields
And all she saw was melting ice and she always sighed
In the quiet and early morning she was gone like the mist
Taking all her frost with her, everything even the least

Then it was time for the greens to blossom
The butterflies emerged from the silky worms
And the clouds wore a fairer apparition
Which came as a pair of joy and admiration
To all the inhabitants of this city called Summer
The tents are packed for resorts where the land is lower
And where the three rivers happily met
The land became wetter as the sun set

Summer was flowery, full of bees and butterflies
And derived her name from the abundant sun smiles
That roamed and romanced the whole land
But even in the quietness of the city’s idionsyncracies
Thru the pockets of farms and homes and hills and valleys
There exist some bugs and gnats and toads
Those who find it nice to be villains and rogues
But this is Summer, where there is a golden sun
And city of insects, here and there, stay or run…

To be continued…

Nature Uncategorized

The Tree leaves fall

Permit me a sec before reading this piece.

I am pained to see the world destroy green life, I feel the grieve of these wonderful creatures, I feel even worse knowing I might not be able to save all the trees from the cruelty of my own kind. You all know that the trees are our best companion on Earth. Destroying them for some purposes, both reasonable and unreasonable can be our own undoing. These trees supply us with our very own air of vitality (oxygen), so please can we imagine a world without trees and say no to injustice meted on this fair companions of ours? I am taking this time to write this piece in dedication to all trees and green life, to all who see the need to protect trees and make efforts to save them.


Can you see the green leaves fall

When the tree logs fell,

Behind your window or right in your garden,

By the side of your garage or on the park nearby?

The leaves fall quietly from the trees

They fall solemnly, quietly

Swinging from a branch to another

Joyfully, weightlessly, 

Not discerning why it had to fell

 Not discerning the fault of the real world

But admiring the darkening world

And sharing in her downfall a tear

But a falling tree leaf never signify our downfall

But what will a million tree leaves look like

When they fall from the skies,

Happily admiring the dark Earth

Which we live, love and crave?

image from




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


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!


A Poetale: Night and the Wind

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


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


Poetale: Drought Land, songs of Reality

There was a land, somewhere in Africa
Where the rain won’t come for a long time
The people are lean from walking distances
In search of streams or rivers
But sometimes they get no water
For Crocodiles lived in those rivers
And they were always hungry, always!
So the men went with local guns
While the women followed with baskets
The distance was long and stones cut their feet
The children most times while struggling to climb the hills
Fall and faint… Same with women and men
A trip to the water side will take till mid day
And what was the prize?
Muddy, eel infested water from the earth!

Then, the river thinned out like the men
The sun took her toil, sucking away the moist
Once again, the people stayed without water
And crops withered with each morning sun
The land was barren, the people too…
And so was there crops and animals

A week went without rain…
People packed to leave the land
But then a child yelled excitedly
Pointing towards a growing cloud
That fast approached the clan
Then came the sound of the rumbling clouds
A light shower and the whole town went joyful
Some rain, some lifes… Africa…
No one will say, when the rain will go AWOL next

Many had died because of no good drinking water. Infact this is one of the major causes of human deaths in Africa. As we know, water is life and anything short of clean water can pose a serious threat to human lives.
This poetale is intended to draw attention to Africa’s major problem: lack of potable water. Now the poetale might sound relaxing but the real facts on ground are troubling. Africa needs water, and Africa needs your help and prayers. #Supportafrica, #HelpAfrica today.


The Wind

There was heavy wind, swooshing about
Just behind the hut where the pots lay
Now it surged. Paused, Sudden… Play
The wooden doors creak restlessly
Like horses surround’d by wild dogs
Near the bush, the wind whipp’d tree logs

The sweet fragrance of other houses came
The stench of the sewages woke up
And roofs flew off houses with no luck
Whistling pines started a quick rehearsal
Drawing to attention a memory of the wind
Waiting for the crescendo, the clan sang along

Stressed up, the plantain leaves dropped
The stars and moon took a fast flight
For the wind grew in power and might
Cats hidden under the dense garbage
Scrambled off for safety, the rats after them
All to seek refuge from the winds great storm

The clouds are pitch dark, cover’d entirely
By the grim hands of the warring wind
And to men and all, to bed she calmly bid
Drawing figures of stray sand upon the earth
Throwing ones garbage behind anothers backyard
And sweeping the town center, like a man gone mad

But the winds asunder most times are a lullaby
Yes, the sweet breezes that move about the house
Tickles everyone, man, woman, child, pet and mice
The heavy wind continue’d her joyful rage
And behind those huts where the pots lay
It went on and on. Paused and sudden… Play


Color 2 for Uwakmfon Ebong and Makabongwe Luphelele

There are many colors, nice and cute
Dull and tiring, fainting and mute
Some fall by the bronze roadside
More on the greens of the field
The birds fly across the cerulean sky
With the jade hued beetle buzzing by,
On the empty dusty rocks words echo
And the ever warm and cuddly yellow-
The offshoot of the golden sun
Bring men, black or white to tan
The waters of the ocean wash the shores
But colorless are words that teach the lores
The skyline is charcoal black as night falls
The clays of the farmlands a dull sorrel
The color of a fine fish, silver
And the sweet honey a burnt sienna
The beautiful color of a cold bubbling Coca Cola
Poured out on a glass mug to create a wonder…

When we are ired we turn red
On our face and all about the head
When we get jealous or envy
Then we are said to hue green!
Now, we talk of blood and strife
When we mistakenly got cut by a knife
Or when the sons of men go crazy
And take up arms, strange and grey
We are loved when we share flowers
Amber, rose, turquoise and lavender
And what if I make a pick, one for me and you
What would you like best, an orange or an ultramarine blue?


Three Short Poems: The Stars, June and Thankful

::The Stars::
We wait under the old mango tree
Counting the glittering stars
And lying on the sandy soil
To get a better glimpse of the skies
The Wind is our guest,
She mocks the rendezvous
She whispers the tunes of Nature
And drag tree leaves with it
An evening of quietness
A moment to let thoughts wander
And travel with amazing time,
When the night draw nearer
Then the stars come to glitter

This month heralds greatness
A month of green and rain
Where tree leaves fall in circles
Dancing to meet the earth,
And when they drop finally
They settle to a new life…
June, supposes a banquet of rain
It feeds the cattle with fresh grass
And men with hope and plenty joy
The fields of corn ripen in the sun
Changing from green to golden
The smell of rain upon the clay
Define mechanisms unseen anywhere!

Now nothing compares to a life,
Grateful and full of appreciation
Never mince words, say it
Never assume things, pray it
I am thankful to you reader…
I am thankful to all helpers
I am thankful for poetry and Nature
I am thankful to myself, Oke’ Iroegbu
I am thankful for the mind and pen
I am thankful for this sweet inspiration
To be or not to be,
Without or within
I am thankful dear Lord Jesus Christ


Colors: the first part

Colors are very beautiful
They tell a lot about all;
And a little about this and that
The ocean, the sun
The mice that live across
The busy street roads
Or the golden corn field
And the wild, the deserts
And the ice of Antarctica
Colors describe our feelings
Red with rage
The royal purple…

Each day wakes with colors
Take the flowers as an example,
Some grow so pale like the purple
And some, like the blessed color of harvest
Gold, the suns’ face upon a field of wheat

The soft and mild wind move about, quietly
Up the great green trees where the pretty birds live
And on the grey soil where the mushrooms thrive
But none is able to paint her till this day
Why? I wonder, but none can truly say

Okay let us paint a color, a fair one
Just any color which comes to mind
Flaunt the blues, make a little mound
Of nice sweet dreamy hue of orange
With a bunch of hogs walking to forage

Okay, let us talk about the eye hues
About the red that signifies danger
And the blood-shot eyes of the Hyena
Brown, that makes all images muddy
And to me seems a lot more nasty

What if there was a color of feelings?
Now let us try to paint a color of love
Like a surge of water upon the wharf
How amazing it is to add a drop of ruby
A humble hue, just for you and me?



This morning brought me some fresh rain
From my window I see the rains drop around
The fresh smell of the clayey soil come
Mixed with the scent of boiling corn
Blue clouds sift across the skyline
As the Doves come down to dine
Always; brown and greens all about
Grasses of the south start to sprout
The day is new, a month is born
And pretty June just came around
With her a handful of rain
For all- faun, flora and man


The Rainmakers Tale: Tradition

Give me some rain,
Take away the present situation
Let the wind bid me warn again
Give me rain, dear Heaven!

Let if flood the browned farmlands
Let it refresh the waters of the ponds
And the hards rocks upon the dry Earth
Let the hamlet be full of the wet clay salt

The Heavens will rumble
I summon the East winds
I knee before the passing clouds
I hear the aves call out loud

I summon thee Wind from afar
And She quietly comes binding alas
It throws the heavy mighty doors ajar
And what a rain that must fall, aa-hah!

The clear clouds are darkened
The firmaments are blackened
There is a powerful surge of wind,
To the East where it always stayed

On such evenings when all is weak and wiery
When the rain falls on this hamlet, hurriedly
My long candle lights become crimson with fury
As my light-grey curtains dance in sheer frenzy

So right now I am standing,
I stand beneath the falling rains
I chose to, for it is my special calling
And I thank Heaven for this blessing!


The Poem of a Shepherd

I will tell you about my Jehovah,
My beautiful encounters with Him
His creations that made me wonder
With each passing day and dream

The tall Red Pine blossom
When there is such a wild-wind
It shakes down leaves for the ‘groom’
Twisting, circling as they fall down

Stand at the zenith of the hills
See the green lowlands and plains
Without pillars, as they rise and fall
And this, no physician can explain

The sun light paints the land
With her rising awesomeness
She colors all life, gold
A hue bringing great happiness

I am amazed in the morning
For it brings abundant joy
To people that are mourning
And to all, He makes rejoice

He sends the heavy night rains
To calm the laborers daily toil
And fills pots with abundance,
The waters make moist the soil

I see Him in the waking of the sun
And when the mist rise up the cloud,
On dew waking early in the morning
And the streams that run Eastward

His Love is like the surging wind
None can stand on its way
The waterfalls tell of these words
Which the psalmists sing and say

He had made storm in the desert
And water has come from dunes
He had consoled the souls, hurt
And made Kings from common men

The strange clouds pass by
But the Love of God stays;
Tarry a little more, for His light
Must surely come some day

I am left to wonder alone
The awesome power of my Creator
He who made the rain and the snow
And the earth a living sculpture


A beautiful day

The light has come upon my eyes
Birds twitter behind the windows glass
Beautiful sunrise across the horizon
The skies are gold, so is the land

Voices of people are drawn to me
What a marvelous day it will be!
The big sleepy town wakes very slowly
Man, woman, child, pets, trees, Lilies

I see wonderfully, I am conscious
Wake to the Lords abundant grace
I am alive today, the Lords blessed day
One in a bright and sunny month of May


The Clouds gather

The clouds gather
And in her wake
The evening turned black
Clouds gather above the sky
As light showers try to descend,
The showers fall on the clay
As beautiful humid smell arise

The clouds gather
Above the little town
She wakes the lightning
And all evening
The lightning took shots
Of the warm wetlands
Sending a cold surge of air
Flinging stray papers and silt
And making dresses dance
But all men must retire
For fear of the coming storm
And the asunder it brings


Rainmakers’ tales: 2 tales of Oke- Iroegbu

When I am not making the rain fall
And flood the villagers huts and farms
And to make the river banks overflow
So that the forests pathway is swampy
And the great crocodiles are washed ashore;
Then I will be watching the glittering stars
And talking about the stars, the night and moon
Well, the night is never complete without a tale
For the sleepy little ones,
But this time, no reading from a book
I shall tell you of the Forest and her folks
… Oke- Iroegbu

Once when the Forests owned all the land
And the Forest King has loved the greens
For it spread, such that the white mountains
Were covered with green grasses and plants
The Wind truly loved the look on the Mountain
For during the Winter, she had grown terribly cold
That she felt absolutely nothing even for the Wind
Then she had no dimples, no smiles, no blushing
Then it was only the Tomato that blushed about
Tanners, farmers, pupeteers called out to her
And all she could was smile and blush deep red
The Ice King wooed the Mountain and usually
Gathered about her face to give her a warm kiss
But this never went down well with the cool Wind
Now that the Ice King has gone with his captains
And Summer has come, the Forests came with their greens
How awlful, the Wind felt all year round
Seemed he was just a big time born loser!
But the true logic being that the Mountain
Was never meant for this young Wind

Now it was the tradition that the young men
Cut wood in the neighboring green forests
Before they can be allowed to chose a maiden
There was no axes in the town and near hamlets
And men were desperate for things
Even when they are not ready and ripe for it
Mirtle was a young man, despised and frail
Naturally dull, but deep inside he was a man
The youth of the hamlet, saw him as a weakling
And infact unfit for this great competition
So he was abandoned, and the other men
Went deep into the hearts of the green forest
Looking for wood, for there was no axe then
Then came dwarves walking about the hamlet
Without food or warm clothing
And night came upon them daily
And they starve and want warmness
And no one cared or even looked at them
For the villagers loathed the dwarves
But not all of them were villains
The weak Mirtle might be weak physically
But he had compassion and love
And knew what it meant to be cold
Not from the treacherous night weather
But from the hatred that lurks in peoples hearts
Mirtle gave his food and warm cloths
To some of the dying dwarves
Sharing with them till he had none
One night, the Chief Dwarf presented a gift
And lo! An axe, not just ordinary
And so Mirtle had wood and a fair maid
For his kindness to strangers in need

I knew you got the message, I had imagined and made this story to teach about love and kindness. Abraham entertained angels without knowing it.


Musing: My Doves

Feathers flapping
Sitting on my arms
With their young claws
Not to let go
Not to fall down
Man and dove
Care and love
When I hold you two up with care
You stare into my eyes with curiosity
What a dark world
Your fine eyeballs
Seem to say,
Roving around my place
On my arms you two perched
Trying to get a balance
Whenever I walked off
Even afraid to fly off
From my own very arms!
Uncertainty, but not to worry
For to your mom you must return

Okay! I happened on these two baby doves three days ago. Their mother flew off, and in their attempt to follow fell on the floor. So I couldnt leave them out there. It was getting late and cats and other wilder birds could attack them. I took them in for the night, made a cosy bed for them and in the morning they were the first to wake. After my chores, I returned them were I got them. I also noticed doves cooing in the location, so my assumption was the mother was out looking for them with their kith and kin. How adorable! When I checked back much later I saw their mom with the babies on the rooftop. Doves are such lovely birds with nice hearts.


Poetale: The Vampire

I wonder why we are warm blooded
And yet men is to another, stone cold
The suns’ light hide such many things;
In the depths of wells, beings with wings
And the thoughts, which we fear exist
They come and disappear like the mist

With the appearance of the moon
The fur extends beyond the skin
Farther it stretches to a big beard
Faces torn, strange and very bold
The tricks Nature play on men:
As like Count Dracula in his den
And all fiery and fearful beings
Which I solemnly call ‘just things’

Walk not alone in a forest
By a full moon light
Dreadful creatures crawl about
Seeking for that, that gives it delight;
No conscience, but real taste
For the warm blood on the breast

And when I had a little converse
On what gives her special interest
I got a huge shocker
And I was left to wonder…

Life is not always cold
Afterthoughts, I replied
“Don’t you see how I look?
I am a fellow vampire too,
I have long ears like the elf
Lips, eye colors, all of a wolf!”
Trying to fend off signs of fear
Both of us, never to see the others fare
And for those who call out like an umpire
A quick terror of such a name, vampire

For my friend Grace Anya, for she believes she’s a vampire.


The Lover of my life

You’re the lover of my life
my other half
Since you came my way
I have beautiful days
I am so in love with you
I am not ashamed to



I am awoken to the sound
Of the lovely morning birds
Twittering behind the green tree
And the buzzing of the Bumblebee

The sun rises quietly
Her rays shine brightly
The clouds are blue
Painted by a fine hue

All about the bright skyline
The scouting hawks and doves whine
And under a trees shelter
All things are left to glitter

To the outside; the sunny firmaments
We take our washed and wet garments
As numerous birds sing
Flapping their colorful wings

Then this big town wakes
The chimneys that bakes
The tailors, the brewer
The farmer and the tanner



The nights may be dull…
But there are fresh morning airs
That this beautiful morning shares
It grows with the comely light
Letting all feel the suns’ warmth
As she rise from behind the cloud
Painting the land, bright and gold

The airs are for all;
The sun flower with its bright colors
And the steam boat with sailors,
Cruising across the deep blue sea
And the farmers on green rice paddies
Looking up now and then, to stretch
With their dark grey fanciful straw hat

And it comes upon all…
Fridays dawn with sweet smiles
With happiness and hopeful sighs,
Relieves and joyful moments
Saved from the stressful torment
Of work done during the past days
And we all say, “thank God its Friday!”


Folk: The Palm wine tapper

When the palm wine tapper
Goes visiting his palm trees
He is very, very happy
And when he climbs a tree
He leans on his strong ropes
“Kpom Chiki! Kpom chiki!!”
He is very, very happy

The Palm wine is a natural beer derived from the Palm raffia trees. The beer is whitish in color and when mixed with water foams. I remember drinking a cupful. The tapper is normally depicted as a man on a straw hat with pants stretched down to his knees and perhaps on bare clothing such as a singlet.
I learnt the Igbo language when I was growing. I could recall those lyrics describing a palm wine tapper who is happy doing his work. I have penned down those wordings sang during the primary school days, and I find it funny recalling the moments we were asked to demonstrate.

“Kpom chiki…” Onomatopoiea, describes the sound of the tappers cutlass as it lands on the Raffia palm tree branches.

The Igbo folk song:

Mgbe oku ngwo gara n’ude
Obi na ato ya uto
Mgbe origoro na ngwo ya
O dabere na-ekete ya
Kpom chiki! Kpom chiki!!
Obi na ato ya uto


Musing: Four Poems of Oke’ Iroegbu

(i.) The Moon
The Moon is following me
And with her light I see
Wherever I walk she stalks
Behind my shadow she follows
And how she sweeps the land
Looking for me in the quiet clan

(ii.) Village Square
The nights dancing festival
Brings all, big and small
The farmer, the wine tapper
The cobbler and the dancer
A night of skewered meat
And one, were lovers meet

(iii.) The candle
See how her pretty light flickers
Throwing the light on my papers
Like a tongue of fire
She seeks to be admired
For even the wind has come
To rest and get some warm

(iv.) The dancer
The drums beat hard
And she strod forward
Swerving about like a mad maiden
In a big and crowded man-full den
Dancing to the cat-calls, the desires, the drunk men
And for all that cared to come watch her or listen

Oke’ Iroegbu


A son of the hamlet

I was born and bred in a big city
But nought interests me
More than a quiet life
Which the serene hamlets give

I was the king of the jungle
With maidservants and menservants
And a great sand house
Filled with sand-made yams
Commanding the mango fruit
To fall for my noon delight
And the skies turn dark blue
So that it would rain heavily

The moonlit nights are firecrackers
I sent them into the sky on a mission
To excite me with their noise and bangs
The streams flow as I dip my foot to stop her
She mocks my sovereignty, laughing heartily
The green forest full of trees are silent
I thought I did tell them to keep quiet!
I have eaten the Murringas’ seedlings
I have chopped up the Pumpkin skin
I even has slain snakes
Which infiltrated my farmland
I have climbed the Guava
And the mango and Cashew
I slayed a chipmunk
Which ate the fabrics in the house
Oh, I was a warrior!
Yes I was
I Swam the shallow rivers
And caught a big crab

Now here again I happen,
I happen upon these cities again
But the only true place I ever loved
Was this life which I desire when I am
A thousand miles away from township
And her strange faces of hustle bustle

The poet vividly paints a picture of his past times and experiences in the village and rural areas. The piece suggests just one thing: he truly adores a quiet and pastoral countryside lifestyle.


Musing: Stare into my eyes

I love to stare into your eyes
To let you know how special you are

I heave a sigh of relieve
Each time, tears of grieve
Dry from your pretty face

Never let go of sweet memories
Make them stay in your bossom
Enjoy all blossoming Summers
And the ice-cold Winters
But never let it fade away
Our moments, golden and sweet
Like the fast current of the spring
Leaping in joyful bounds;
Bouncing crystals of water
Rejoicing with their flowy brethren
Down to the end, where the waters fall

I see the glitter on your face
When the sun shine upon it
The stars light the dark clouds
You count the brighter ones first;
And the weak ones follow
When it rains and shines
It is a blessing, you are a blessing

You are my addiction
You are my God sent
You are my little song
Which sings in my heart

You play my hearts harps
You drown me in your love
The walls have ears indeed
They listen to our own tale
Your breath falls on me like
The sounds of the waterfalls

Gracefully you stride like the Cheetah
My eyes haven’t beheld anything better
And what more do I desire
But you that I lovely admire?


Folk: The sunny Forest

Once in a quiet sunny forest
The cruel Sun starved the Earth
And her little furry inhabitants
Of drinking water and comfort

The Owls & Wolves yawn in hunger
No one was able to decipher
Why the Sun brought her asunder
As all was thirsty for water

The forests dwellers hatched a plan
One of travelling to the village of men
Across hills & valleys thru strange land
And numerous tribes, peoples and clans

Such was the painful and heavy strife
For the bigger animals couldn’t thrive
The little animals ran for their dear lifes
From both the bigger animals and the Suns strafe


The Snail-cart

We are riding behind the snail cart
And now, we can see the wide world
Truely. As she is and not what it seem
With this speed my nation can see
All we had left behind and forgotten
All that slowed us and our speed bumps

Ah! We seem not to enjoy the ride anymore
Where are the gears and the grease sponges,
Where are the wheels and the extra tires?
The cart might never break though
But we can’t feel our legs
We can’t feel this slow ride


Musing: Song of a Farmer

I just picked a fruit
Beautiful. Reminds me of you
Grey eyes and elegant

There are many fruits
But this one is purely exotic
A fine and pretty sight

You are an amazing fruit
Like the yellow Sunflower
You, my boring days light

You have become my fruit
The sunshine after my dark
My friend; humble and sweet


Africa’s poetale

Africa is a budding cocoon
A shy, fragile and cute butterfly
With shaky wings meant to fly
Living, in a desperate world

Africa is the gigantic tree
That grows by the side of the river
Shielding the lengths of the forests
And feeding the lifes around it

Africa is a mountain highly peaked
With white snows melting gracefully
And herds of Wildebeest grazing
Quietly down the grassy green plains

Africa is a mild song
That plays when the sunshine
At the beach down, down the road
With brown and white sand mixed

Africa is a dream
Waiting to happen
Hope of the generation
A scenic beauty of land and nature

Africa is my home
The hills of serene Ovim*
And the wild catfishes
That move about kingly and fearless

Africa is love
Community and family
Desires and joyful times
And the moonlight tales of the town

The Victoria Waterfalls is Africa
…The Veldt, the Savannah
…The Lake Chad and the River Niger
…The Lions and the Cheetah
…The Crocodiles and the Hippo
…The Elephants and the Rhino
…The Baobab and the Iroko
…The Zulu tribe and Igbo
…The Guinea and the Sahara
…The Oil Palm and the Shea
…The Orange and Nile River
…The Ashante and the Boer
…The Yankari reserve and the Serengeti
…The bushmens’ home and the Kalahari
…The amazing wine called mqobothi
…The Zebra and the Ostrich

Africa plays my fancy
And in such sweetness
I love my motherland

Ovim is in Nigeria and the poet hails from there.


Musing: Illusion

“I compare you to this month
Blessed April with blue eyes
Clear as the benevolent Cloud
Full of perfect but right actions
And a loving stormy mouth
Which glow in the quiet night
And with your imaginary wand
You stray thru my mind like an illusion”

I wrote a poem
But I forgot your name
I sang a song
But I can’t recall the tune
I want to draw a Palm tree
But there is none here to see

I want to paint a lady Monalisa
And smell the sweet Lavender
…to run the hills
And strengthen my will
…to see the Masai
And make them my war allies
…to frighten the Lions’ and Hyenas’
And run heartily across the Savannah

I want to dance with you
Somewhere, just me and you
I want to dream of you
And say all I desire anew