Filled with the fullness of measure
Of Christ, the wholeness of his stature
In grace, endowment and wisdom--
No faliure alibi hast thou to tender
Why you can't glitter in thy kingdom
Calling in life, be it as a preacher,

Sportsman, teacher, trader or musician,
Save you are super fool--a politician
That fritters away the flourishing treasure
Of his country: promising always an elephant
With vain bogus budgets and speech lofty;
But for maze, could only deliver folks an ant.

But here are the effulgent stars: Lo,
Behold *baba Adeboye! see *bishop Oyedepo!
Thy own gift can shine for the entire earth
Also to see, without comparing thine glory
With another's, focusing on the blessed berth
Of heaven, when your labour and life cease.

"Intreat me not to leave thee,
or to return from following
after thee: for wither thou goest,
i will go; and where thou lodgest,
i will lodge: thy people shall be
my people, and thy God my God.

Where thou diest, will i die,
and there will i be buried:
the Lord do so to me, and more
also, if ought but death part thee
       and me."

Fashioned by grace amazing and mercy
Divine. Wrought by his unparalleled Passion:
His suffering, death and resurrection--
The cross of Christ in Calvary
Is the lone bridge, the only ladder
That reconnects man to his Maker.

No one who has traversed
That Golgotha-link hath ever
Fall'n into the deep r'ver
Of hell 'neath, nor by damnation
Touched in Satan's condemnation.

"Hey, what about so-and-so prophet,"
Said one, "and such-and-such sect?"

I do not, sir, over religion quibble.
Compare to grave matters--trifle.
Get books and the Bible. It's futile,
Argument, making a sage an imbecile.

And why lose friends to gain foes,
Multiplying instead one's woes?

God doth not any man in life compel.
Each soul chooses 'tween heaven and hell.
Yet his love daily he whispers to you
And i. College cobber, that is true.

"Oh, you are just a pedestrian
Writer, without wits and sans brain,
Like an *Onitsha-market author."

"Thou art also a paltry poet, a bad bard.
Folks should simply thy collections discard.
For i can nought make of thy poetry ethos.
Your works wherefore are but bathos."

Hallelujah!!
Praise i Jehovah!

"Hell. Away now thou pedantry."

Thanks for your commentary--
It's heavenly--erudite Professor.

Faith ferments finer than wine.
Thy decision it is with whom to dine.

The self-righteous, the holier-than-
Thou art, who prefers to leap
Over to God on his on major merit
Will always go under the heap--

Thinking he can close the chasm
Created by sin,
And cover the gulf caused by transgression
By ritualistic rules and doctrinal devotion,
But ends up in some bedlam--
In Sheol's loony bin.

Broad are the twain heaven's arms
Filled with warmth and soothing balm
Often open to embrace prodigal souls.

What do couples are sincerely
Married: the soul or the sultry body;
The outer lustre or the graces inner;
The virtue and the feelings finer
Or the hot frame that with enchant
The eye, which does the sight supplant
Of common sense? Is it the fading
Qualities or those fast-dye abiding
Attributes--weathering season and time
Unscathed, that's unchanged like clime.

In the ears of mine intention
and heart of my affection
heavier are thy words
than Mike Tyson's punches:
they struck my feelings
hard, breakimg the chords
and jaws of my passion.

Truck of snobbish display . . .
. . . plight blighted . . .
       crestfallen.

Should the sis linger more
in my marooned mind,
who hath belittled my person
and social worth?

Though i'm no Knight--
matter of fact, truly--
neither a nobleman, Miss Beauty,
with riches and a badge
of honour to show forth
my position, eminence and prestige:

wheeling thee about in a Rolls Royce
to diverse paradise of your choice;

yet deserve i no scorn of lips,
high lady,
even if belong nay to the gentry.

Should i come upon an enchanting
Popsy who by my own reckoning
And sight investigation --      
Whether she is ebony or brunette --
Is beautiful in my estimation:
Of a jolly heart and steady soul,

One that's lovelier than Venus--
I will not my wits abandon,
Nor give my eyes a pardon;

I mean,

One that smells better than rose--
Straightway will I close,
To not perceive her scent, my nose;

I say,

Of such that tastes sweeter than nectar--
I shall seek nay to procure her taste,
Lest my substance and time I waste;

wait,

Whose skin is softer than butter--
I will not even at all bother
To have a touch of her.

Am I silly to administer
Such injury upon a charming Sis?
For I will forsake apace all business
At hand, and make a beeline for her!