Africa culture/tradition folklore lifestyle Nature Pastoral Poetry

Another Evening Storm with the Rainmaker

… And there’s another rainstorm brewing over this town tonight. Out in the cold street, light bulbs glow here and there, but meshed in grim embrace of darkness itself. I feel the wind lick the skin on my forearm when I hold the curtain to see the rainstorm. There’s a strange but sweet smell, of caked dust mixing with the rain.

My door is thrown ajar, my curtains sail like a mast on a Pirate ship. I lay on the bed, dreams are not so far off.

A Little More Prodding, Dear Rain…‘ You won’t understand, of course. I’ve a special connection with the rain. Now I hear the host of Heaven, rain gathering from afar. Crashing into the glass windows and throwing my neighbours’ household into frenzy. Rooftops are the rain’s crazy drum and she plays on them softly.

Listen, Dear Rain… Go On, Pound The Earth, Beat Your Drums...’ Aha! A call from an Aunt confirms that it rains Cats and Dogs in Ovim, my hometown and as I said earlier on I’m preparing to travel home tomorrow. Can’t you see? The rain is cleaning up the streets and roads, here and home for my return. Haha, I read meanings too deep but this is me, simple things thrill me. But honestly, I do think that I’m a rain maker.

Good night everyone.

Start a blog.

Nature Pastoral Poetry

Tales of the Wild Woods: Summer time

When beautiful summer came…

Upon the glades and vales of the wild woods
The Mountain took her position and stood quietly by the forest side,
Sniffing the sweet smell come from fresh growing flower shrubs
Happy birds came flying home
Followed by pretty insects and the boar herd

The skies tinted with blue skirmish
Sometimes seemed to rain, but it won’t
The tomatoes ripe fast and blush deep
Whenever the black beetles walk up to her for a chat
The sun shine brightly, amused at all reunions
For the community knew many happy times
This was one of those beautiful moments, exhilarating
Antelopes graze majestically beneath tree shade
And squirrels hide behind the branches, watching
“Awww, do you see that?” the pink footed Doves quiz themselves
For in a sudden, a seed came sprouting from the last snow dot
How joyful it was, the Mountain wore a dark gown
Waiting for who dared to admire her triangular shape,
For her lover, the Ice-King travelled far away to other lands
Carrying with himself; all stray winds, both little and mighty
Maybe, to find another lover, but she believed not that
For she heard it as a rumor from the busybodies grey Wolves
The Pines look taller, the snow has left their frost-bitten roots
And when they look down, they feel good about themselves
“Oh, how awfully painful the frost bite was on our foot”
The crickets wonder, leaping from a grass leaf to another
Allowing the wet airs to sift through their fine long body
“The dead Earth is alive!” They yell in utmost joy and unison
“Look at the Mountain, must she dress scantily
Now the Ice-King has no use for her iniquities?”
A confused Wolf said, hiding his face from the sun’s light
“And what beauty she has brought forth”, a Linnet replied
“The flowers blossom in magnificent desires
The tree leaves are greener, and the airs milder
But are all these, the only wealth of the summer?”
The philosophical Woodpecker asked as he shook his head
For to him, the soul of living and happiness
Comes not in the summer nor the winter

Nature Poetry Uncategorized

Haiku: The Wind surfs

How happy, the wind surf the sea!
Bending double to strong waves,
To escape the doom before her


Cold Rain in Uyo

There was a rush of rainfall on the window side
Accompanied by a burst of cold wind
Which ate deep into the flesh of careless people
And caught people in between the crossfire
Of the cold wind and the torrential rain
There was no ceasefire, whatsoever. No peace, no victor
Just calm disaster. One accustomed to the people

The Clouds heavy stomach rumbled and purged above
And what big stomach she has!
For the length of the Earth
Marveled with each of her rumbling
And with each purge she sent down
A squirt of rain upon the bored Earth
Followed by a burst of a very cold wind

Now the day is far spent without the sun
The bright day slip away from the gentle morn
to a shivering, cold, dark and sleepy noon
So is the days tale, so is the tale of the cloud and rain
And their dilemma with the ever cold wind

The rain fall continued, fading away quietly,
Fading away to rise again after less time
The wind seem confused, she seemed misjudged
For she came and went without a quick notice

It is already late to assume that the sun will rise again today


Airy Night

The evening is cold
The airs are mild
It blows very sweet
Into the eyes of all
Burnt ashes fly about
Even as the evening is dull
And people lay yawning
The wind continue to blow


The Winds Tale: A call of the Hills

The call of the hills…
On a night dark as pitch

We stay listening to the swooshing trees

And the strange call up the hills…

A tornado of wind come surfing down

Pushing the brushes and woods apart

Sending both man, child and pets scrambling

Tall and strong wild palms bend double

Threatening to crush who dare stare

The dark clouds growl like a young lion

Shaking the breadths of the firmaments

The firmaments rumblings shook everyone

Wide eyed infants, the whistling pine and the Owl

The dogs bark and hide behind their kennels

Tethered farm animals shriek with fear

The cold came, and with such a surge!

It wooed the candle light

Which danced with such excitement

But the Rain never came

The Rain was locked out

Today was not his own day

A night as such as this

A windy tale to be told
An inspiration hewn down the hill
From up the dark firmaments of the night

From the hills of an African hamlet…


The Old Man and The Bulb

I met an old man
Walking down the lane
Passing thru the barn
With a face, bold and stern
He dropped his stick
And I watched him stoop
His body rattled, weak
And down the steps, I took a hop
“Hello sire, lemme help you”
He looked up, a bright smile
“Oh, goodness, my son, bless you
i had been on the road for miles!”
The evening was cold
A storm was on its way
“Please do come inside
And I shall bake you some cake”
The face brightened the more
And thru the steps I led him
Taking our time as we head to the door
The sun sets, the clouds dim
And then the winds blew
Snow balls fall in drunk circles
And the road was full of white hue
I set the little brown kettle
And soon it was whistling
“Sire, you can stay the night”
I saw the hope in his eyes, dwindling
“Thanks for your hospitality”
He smiled again with some pain
The bulb up the ceiling kept shining
And I see glares of the old man
Take a side look, once and again
After tea and very hot shower
He lay on the bed, with his eyes on the ceiler
I sensed the unease, and made for the bed
“Sire, is anything the matter?”
He grunted and calmly shook his head
“Nah son, but I kept watching
This little light shining up there
I prefer to sleep on something
Afar off this little Sun up there!
I dont know what holds that”
He pointed to the bulb, carefully
Trying to let me see
Why the bed should be moved
Fearing should the hand
Holding the bulb decides to let go
What might become of him


Lullaby: Light rains

Tonight it showers outside
Dark clouds all over the skies
And a very strong wind
Forcing itself thru the windows
Pushing the cotton curtains away
While a light rain falls
Not a sound is heard
But a swooshing wind
And some pat-pattering
Of stray raindrops
Falling on the pavements outside
And some, boldly on the windows
The night is cold
The wind is busy
And the rain is here
My bed calls me
And there we must go


The Wind

There’s coldness everywhere
Up the forested hills, the wind surge
Throwing up fallen tree leaves
In a self heart gladdening sweep
Down the hill, the hamlet wakes
Pulling cardigans and all manner of rags
To keep Warmth from fleeing
The noises outside, of the busy wind
Sweeping the village square
And all the corners of the hamlet
Pulling both debris, dirt and garbage
About in a fierce dance
An uncontrolled wild desire
The skies are pitch dark
The clouds are unseen
And the Bats were nowhere around
The crickets all quiet, perhaps scared
And strongly holed up in the dark
Deep down the brown soil
The grasses all drifting about
As a choir would do
The nearby Lake, snoring
Sending her soft breezes
Towards the quiet village
A cold night, windy
And calmly a lovers own


A Tale of the Lakeside

Once upon a quiet lakeside
Where blue skies stay
And very thick fog dwells
With tall Figs hiding in them
Hanging like towers
There’s a riot of colors
Down the valley
When the sun rays fall
On the forest below
All turns to gold
The clouds are not left behind
They shine gloriously
The water drops fall
Slowly from the waterfall
Washing the pebbles
As white waters rush in haste
And the solemn rocks
With green forests all beside it
Keeps watch in mute
There’s a rainbow up the sky
And a host of Egrets surfing the wind
The white mountains stand guard
With patches of green here and there
The winds blow the sweetest breezes
The bears growl all about
So beautiful, so charming
All about a quiet lakeside
And that’s Natures gift

Oiroegbu Halls


The Train

I see you pant
Gasping for air
As you climb the heights
Chuuu, you say, Chuuuuuu!
I wonder how it be
How you muster such courage
Such strength and majesty
The children are happy to see you
When your long snaky body
Pulls through the length of the village
‘ChuuChuuuChuuu!’ they cry
Though scared, they love you
How cunny your face seem
But you are happy traversing
The length of our land, pushing the wind
And strange red faces staring at us
Who are they, by the way?
Guess, all you can say
Is chuuu, chuuuu and chuuuu!

Nature Uncategorized

The Journey

Dreams grow
Winds blow
There’s a dust on me
Cos I’ve been away
On a journey
To a land far away

A journey
To a land of honey
An epitome of beauty
A home to my raging fury
I’ve been away to
A land of hills
Of great vast lands
A land of brave warriors
I wished I craved
I looked I wondered
I saw it
A piece of paper almost burnt

‘One can not be a gold
Till she’s refined and made bold’

I wrote this poem in 2012, I can’t really recall why but I might have traveled somewhere and so becomes my experience thru my traversing.