Words set to music
give the body tonic--
poetic melody:

rhymes, rhythms, caesuras,
meters, beats, stanzas
and envoys
in use.

Making millions of dollars
off an album,
platinum
pop stars:

hounded by paparazzi,
landed in a Jaccuzi;
deified are poets--

pursued by Muse's mustang
midst the prairies
of inspiration
trotting.

Poetry draws no pretty penny,
prizes like the Nobel
praise.

Mummy poetry is exhaling
in the lyrical pantheon
of music.

Passes not by a day, that many an e-mail
unsolicited for would not stray--
from only Christ knows where--into
my SPAM folder. Some do sail
there to have a prurient stay,
bringing along many a memento
in an argosy of raunchy piquant pictures.

Some convey commerce, insurance or banking
messages; some the cargo of relationship
carry; while another an ad of ******
bears, still another talks about dealership.

Yet stood out Twain. Two diverse
SPAM e-mails have been berthing,
with goatish gaits and sharkish smirks,
in that folder unrelenting and unswerving.

One SPAM e-mail reads: "Why wait--have
an affair with a cheating wife today."

Sweetest SPAM!

Gorging myself on this fetish
fare free of charge. Kittenish
jades, serve me thy dainties of
dalliance enough!

To rock and roll, rolling in the hay,
making merry heaves, does ever crave
this rebellious flesh--yet, this randy
SPAM e-mail's offer offsets much the mind:

"A cheating wife" desiring to find--
for reasons amourous--a dandy,
a sort of cad.

Wondering muse: "A cheating wife"?
What a magic life!

Another SPAM e-mail says its own thus: "View
my pics. Lonely married women--
view **** pics." Indeed and true,
they grip with a serious sudden
poke the soul, like pangs the heart,
those three momentous, wrecking,
wretched words: "lonely married women."

Though content spicy and Libidinous;
yet maddening.
Secret meals seemingly are delicious,
but have a fiery taste.

Where--on Earth, in Mars, or in Hell
are they? Here, in this world they dwell.

Thought marriage is a blessed haven--
a heaven of unfeigned love and lasting bliss.

How could one be married and yet
be alone in life--lonely, who has
crossed over singlehood's borders,
nor is she a widow for bereavement?

A husband did his queen abandon
for a fresh-fangled pawn,
flying away with that new
dove--frittering his fortune away,
as she chirps love in lust songs anew
into his donkey's ears; flattery
displayed, a groovy
guise--

playing ducks and drakes with his riches

until his substance ship sank, like Titanic,
colliding with an iceberg of folly
in the deep of adultery:

making a muck of his wealth.

The flirtatious dollybird no sooner
flitted, then flew abroad at last,
leaving him to drown in the murky
waters of his wreck.


Returned the prodigal man to his hearth
in a sad pickle, with one shirt, one
jean,
and a pair of snickers, to the ever
gracious ***** of his loving Missis--
like a sinner contrite to Jesus.


Whilst a sudden grass widow, his wife
did not covet the companionship,
comforts and copulation
of another flagship--

but was committed to her
vows
to that fun-tossed lugger--
despite the billowy waves,

praying he'd come to his harbour.


The women howbeit in my SPAM folder--
those "cheating wives and lonely married
women", are like Lady Portiphar
pining and yearning for Joseph.

Unread.
Unreplied.

Teen, sixteen, gazing into the mirror, adoring
Her smug self afore that vanity espying glass.
At her well favoured features she's ogling
With ****** grins, sans ****** feelings.

Everything was still in a pink state,
Like morn, from her sole to her pate.

"Time's winged chariot" flashes by, and she's
Turned sixty. That same structure luscious
Like seasons, from summer to winter,
sooner changed: gray hair hath taken over
With wrinkle surface, shelving ******* on
A frame frail. Her cherished hot form
Has sunk, as the sun, down the horizon
Of beauty for ageing, which doth man transform.

Caught by poverty, swinging on its hook
like a fish. Down in the mouth was he
so his relatives fled, friends him forsook:

Lingering nights of unchanged story;
Pining in the grips of paucity.

Ha, he was a forgotten being--
despised and belittled by everybody!

Poorness is a brutal burden and yoke
upon the shoulders of life. It's no joke.

Lack is a wretched beast
and want a miserable guest.

Better to dwell with a mouse!

But heaven's eyes are full of mercy,
wherefore he was visited suddenly.

For the Ark of God into his house
ere long, by Grace's hand, was taken
by David, when with fear he's stricken--
lest like Uzzah he be by and by killed,
who, looking at the Ark tilting, It steadied.

And the Object of dread and horror--
within three months of stay--for the king,
became the Bringer of blessing and favour
to the habitation of Obed-edom,

making his name for eternity to ring
a bell of honour in human kingdom.

Gone is yesterday
and all its aches.
Grace new found today.

Mountain leveled
and
valley filled. . . .

What's 'ore?

Life, full of goodness:

where'ore

the heart belches

out

in

* * * * * * * * * *
h i  g h  p  r  a  i  s  e s.
¡  ¡  ¡  ¡  ¡  ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡

Imagine a world without terror outer
and inner, sans famine of food and water,
where every soul is well-sated; a world
sans sickness and disease, not by the cord
of morbidity and death held; a place
where huts are mansions, every shack is
a castle, and each flat a grand manor;
where the roads are built with pure gold
and the bridges with resplendent diamond;
where the day does not change in colour,
except when full moon in its full array
once in a month has its  own display.

I mean a planet steeping in love
unfeigned, bristling with true hospitality
of the soul; a world bereft of danger,
and of every mind-and-heart breaker;
a world with the similitude of the garden of
Eden, hung on the shoulders of harmony--
where man at another cove's lovely dove
will not leer, where there are
no split and divorce. The genre, stuff
of life where one's pigmentation is
not the cardinal, but the inner essence.

A sort of society where ******, Hussein
and Laden-like fellows and all their
coterie of killers do not have a lair
of habitation, i refer; where besetting sin
has no confederacy with the rotary heart
and mind of man; where the leagues
of villians are non-existence. An earth
where conglomeration of wicked cliques
is non-operational: where everyone be
holy--no child soilder, nor forced labour;
where women are not ravaged in cruelty
of acts, and is void of conflict and war.

Such a place "the world" is not called
but "heaven: governed by the Almighty Lord.

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!

Confronted by a Red sea,
Pursued hard by an enemy:
Knowing not wither again to turn,
Where else in the world to run;

Stand in faith still! for surely
Soon, you will see God's glory
Enveloping your life, like Moses
On Mt. Sinai; and you'll rejoice.

Deferred hope dead, rotten
Away like Lazarus: forgotten.
Unyielding expectations and commitments,
Now resigned wholly to disappointments;

Stand in faith still! for surely
Soon, you will see God's glory
For you, like Mary and Martha,
Like Elizabeth and Zechariah.

Mightier than all challenges is God,
Parting Red seas with faith's rod.

Pierce not my skin,
Thou lancet of horror,
Which is terribly akin
To the blade of terror;

Touch nay me at all,
You dark being;
Mind, be not on call
At the bay of loony bin;

Mortality's debt is
Paid by death's acquisiton--
It's the end of business,
The final liquidation;

The assets of sanctity
Offset and save as well
Many a toxic liability
Of the soul from hell;

Weak, weary and bored
By unbroken quietus fear.
Life is unassured
By a doctor's gear.

Painters, by the highest degree of inspiration,
And poets who with the Muse commune,
Command in their respective trades un-
Common craftmanship, exquisite creation
Of pen and brush upon the parchment
And canvass, through unfettered figment.

Gifted: poets, painters and musicians. Three
Geniuses on this terrestrial plane, with mind
As efficient as the moon in its fullest grind,
As do all artistic souls whose mastery
In finest workmanship are seen. Worship
The God of arts ye astronauts in spaceship,

For poets and painters are cardinal in artistic
Enrolment--and no less endowed are many another
Like sculptors--with thoughts solitary and cryptic.

Author. Nothing his radar
Escapes. All things he knows,
Even the wind that blows.

All gods ere him stoop, bowing
Together to the majesty in
Heaven's realm. Great his manifold
Wonders. Excellent every craft
And work of his hand. The world
Whole waltz upon his golden cart.

Man, the opus of his creation:
The only in his image cast.
Unequalled in form and fashion--
From his first to his last.

Nought exits that was uncreated;
Nonfictional be the Genesis' account.
Scores of theories scientists great invented--
All, Scripture and faith, does discount.

In awe stand: the Alpha hail; laud the Omega.

What ails the face
of the sun,
that its smiley countenance
doth suddenly change?
Why should it run
away which slays darkness' rage?

Clouds of sadness stroll
across the surface of the big ball:
dull substance of despondent sigh.

Unshealth at once
the ray of thy glittering sword, spare
nay thine eternal skill.
Contend and combat:
fight with zest and zeal

For weak and tired and weary,
at night,
shalt thou eventually be;
when with faded
you bid the day, goodbye.

If reading is dying--
of couse it's--
then, what's thriving?

In some destiny vessel sails.
Bound on a mission success to see:--
Ignore prejudice and travesty
Of critics' judgments, whether it fails
Or nay. Though my ship should wreck,
Let not my faith in Christ roam
Aimlessly on the high sea of tempestuous
Life; for I, like Paul, must get to Rome.

Twigs crackling, branches battling
against the wind
not to lose their fettle.

Leaves dry and brown
of feeble strength
away are blown.

Dangling like a thief
hung upon the gallows' cliff:

Old leaves from the tree
one by one be torn,
snapped off the boughs forcibly.

Decease by disease or sickness,
caught by misfortune or curse

Is man, unlike a gay green
leaf, in youth and in a merry gown
of life dieth; no more himself to preen.

Day and night his field he plows.
Timely his good seeds he sows
In career and business and family.
He sweats and drains his muscles
Away. In a hurry he always hustles
Here and there and there to procure prosperity;

Yet, no profit upon his dear investment
In time and energy earned. No achievement
Great to show. He thus wonders aloud
To self: what in life be wrong with him?
For his world lacks rhyme and rhythm
Of success. Soon, his heart says, ''proud

Man, plain is the answer. Be not confused.
Seeing Divine Guidance you have refused,
God also has let you alone. By power
Is not breakthrough! Yield to the Lord
Thy soul first; the wisdom in his Word
Heed--the direction to a life proper.''

Gold is dust, and silver sand:
Money made via vices is silly,
For it will by and by fly away surely.
Some people get riches by contraband,
Ruining others just for them to live
In luxury, like bees in a cosy hive.

Debauchery and lechery are a woe:
Girls chasing is many a man's hobby,
Running daily the full course of adultery
Or fornication. Some are soaked to sorrow
Drown in *****. A married woman, besides her
Hubby and God, may have another "helper."

Yet, the beloved apostle Paul in the Book
Of books, saith: "Godliness with contentment
Great gain is." Every earthly enjoyment
And achievement lacking holiness is a fluke.
Unless the flesh to the Spirit becomes a slave,
Worldly pleasures will the body often crave.

Greatness is not in the muchness of things,
But is rather in possessing the fulness of God.
Many whom this vain world doth highly laud
Are mostly before heaven very low beings.
They are the richest in life that have Jesus
As Lord and Saviour, who chose to be righteous.

Sour love's taste is
sans moolah;
money flavour sweet adds.

For breath and bread,
it's no drudgery
thanks to give.

Never of failure afeared, but of
Trying nay at all. To fail final
It is not. Success from botch enough
Come. Though life has an outlook dismal,
Nevertheless with persistence and grit
And prayer, things bleak will turn bright.
No head afraid can achieve any feat,
Which sees not at the tunnel's end light.

.A foe may become a friend,
And a buddy can turn an enemy
Morrow; man knows not the very end,
Not a fig, of his earthly journey.

With smirk abide, from smiles flee.
Take gall rather than honey,
For things bitter turn later to juice.
Life cannot be fathomed clear, crony.

Many lips never gave them any sporting chance,
As far as that Championship was concerned.
Left they the shores of the country, perchance,
To boot their thorny way to a certain end.
In the first two games sheer mediocrity
Displayed they, finishing both in a draw.
Most fans and analysts on their heads heavy
Words heaped, saying they'd not get a straw
From the tournament. Came the third match,
Which they won relievingly, 2-0 was the
Score. Coming 2nd in the group they did ******,
Scraping a quarter-final berth against the Ivory
Coast team, the competition's chief favorite.
At this stage all hopes of further advancement,
Like mists, vanished. Folks and fans affright
Were that the boys against their next opponent--
Even ere they kicked the ball--would surely lose.
For how would they face such an assemblage
Of stars on parade and prevail! They did cruise
To the semi final however by grit and gauge.
Like an eagle dear soared they over the Mali
Main team too, by 4 goals to 1. When the wind
Fiercest is, against thunderstorm, the eagle amazingly
Would glide through it. And that was the kind
Of spirit the Nigeria Super Eagles possessed that
Made them triumph after 19 years at the Africa Cup of
Nations over others, when they beat by 1-0 flat
In the finals Burkina Faso, despite opposition tough.


Pundits and people seldom give us success
Chances in life, seeming to have our very fate
In their hands. Yet, like daring David did press
Forward to confront Goliath great with his faith
Firm in God and self, likewise so must every
Soul serious and desirous about his destiny do.
For no mortal being over our fortune final authority
Has on earth. Coach Stephen Keshi and his crew
Believed in the players and themselves and went
On to lift the Orange Africa Cup in that event.

Have prayed and praised and fasted,
And have done all what one knew to do.
Still sick, jobless, barren or indebted,
One would be wondering what anew
Is to be done more, for a miracle
To happen and dislodge one's obstacle.

Are God's ears deaf, one may think,
Reasoning if his eyes are not blind?
For how could he allow one to sink
In the sea of sorrow, if he is kind
Indeed to every member of his creatures
On earth, whom he daily nurtures?

Yet, the Lord is faithful forever
Despite the many spites of one's life.
Though one may not now be as that feller
Rich, hale and hearty, or like that nymph
Heavy; yet God shall the situation turn
Around. To every even, there must be a morn.

He that for compassion wholly a widow's
Mount of debts leveled and gave progeny
To Sarah and Anna, who alone windows
In heavens made and healed grave infirmity.
Christ can this dead raise and cause that dry
Bone to live again; no pain escapes his eye.

Abandoned, deserted and forsaken to whine.
In privation was he left lonely to pine.
His friends like a bird fled to another tree,
Leaving him to rot away in Dundee.

His soul was parched, pained and weary,
Longing him to be refreshed speedily.
His heart was sad, bitter and lorn,
Praying him this even to morn would turn.

And the laden lad afterward to London went.
By labour and favour did he an apartment rent
And began in earnest his early dreams to pursue,
Having himself picked up, as a man ought to do--
After a certain disappointment or fall in life--
Chasing no fantasy, frivolities, but working to rule;
Neither was he as afore again playing the pool
But was saving straight, and soon he success struck,
By heaven's fortune that to him came--nay by luck:
Like it's no fluke finding a goodly and godly wife--
It was by grace that he was wherefore blessed.
So his old chummy comrades to him returned to nest:
To wine and dine with him more like before. But he,
Once bitten, twice shy, was wise enough to repeat folly.

Brighter than the sun in "mid-career"
Lovelier than the moon fully blown
Beauteous than the world's gems known--
Sapphire and onyx and diamond dear,
All cannot in glory to him ever compare--
The Lord who lives in splendour rare

The wise  head becomes a fool sans money,
While the goon with quids around to throw
Assumes a sage--the mayor of phony county.
Why should the prince of letters anyhow
Be in want--lacking in substance great,
Flourishing instead in some wretched state?

Yet the politicians who run down the economy
And men of baser thoughts that make heaven's
Hallowed eyes drop tears by their steamy
**** businesses and those of unholy deals
Do seem to prosper much in this awkward
World,with those that vaunt at the Lord.

**, love can be verily romantic!
Howbeit let me warn thee, prithee,
It can also be terribly traumatic
For a fancy guy and a pretty popsy
Who felll headlong in love confusion,
The outcome of their lust's delusion.

Bending downward, hanging
Down like one having
A drinker's droop,
Is my head;
My soul is bent low
For harrowing sorrow.
Like lead
Have i been sinking into the sea
Of deep despair daily,
For this life doth down stoop.

Forsaken by friends and family:
Abandoned in his wretched infirmity
To be pining away for sheer eight
And thirty weary years straight,
Was that bloke by the cool pool
Of Bethesda left. Yet like a mule
Did he stick to his lone faith,
That no matter how long he'd wait
For his miracle--he would nonethe-
Less in his belief in God ever tarry.

And so it was one dandy day,
That Jesus, on a short stay
In Jerusalem, for for him to honour
A feast there, did spot with candour
Clear, that impotent cove long forgotten
There, who was by sickness smitten.

Though a mother her child may neglect,
And his son a father may also reject;
Yet not God. Not the good and loving
Lord, even in spite of man's many a sin.
Heaven does never forget at all humanity,
'Cause the earth is watched by the Trinity
All the time without ceasing. For good,
Nay for evil; giving us breath and food
And everything that our souls so desire,
According to the will of Heavenshire.

The fulfilment of our life's dream may,
Like smoke in the air, linger. Some day,
Though, in God's how and time, shall it yet
To reality come, if in focus we do not fret.

For the compassion that filled his heart
With the kindness that could never depart
From him, Christ went over that infirm
Fella, that his healing he may affirm.
By Jesus was he thus made at once whole:
Touching not only his body but also his soul.

The ability to not in faith waver
Is grace uncommon--to not cave in
Like Abraham to Sarah's honeyed voice,
When tarrying seemed the promise--
To the pressure around, but to linger
The more in hope still, daily waiting
For God's time, like Joseph, when other people,
As the butler chief, are trotting in life and career.
Man, for what man truly is, can buckle
Down and be seeking for "better" option rather
Than be languishing, holding unto the Almighty,
Who is nevertheless the Helper of man and destiny.

The best of man's dust:
his crumb and crust.