Often think I'm odd
to fall in love--
a well too deep
to crawl out unscathed.

So I stay outwith
peeping inside the pit,
hearkening to sundry sounds
of infectious laughs--

jealous--

I too cheerfully fell
into affection's well.

How I was wrong!

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.

Love its essence doth change
becoming sweetened,
mellow with age.

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.

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.''

On the green pastures of tranquil peace
And prosperity may my soul famished
Ever be laid, to be fed and sated . . .

May my heart parched find solace
Beside the brook of goodness still
And cool, and my emptiness refill . . .

Serenity for trouble, joy for sorrow:
Let singing boughs bear the barren
Figs--bringing forth fruit of wren . . .

Arrow aimed at a flying sparrow,
Man must live not by bread alone.
He gains heaven that hell doth disown.

So many politicians here in
My well-beloved-and-endowed country
Ought about to be donning
A dunce's cap for their foolery.
That we are still as a well-blessed nation
And especially in this 21st century
Here--when many with determination
Have been leaping forward in prosperity
Of their country's soul, body and mind,
Advancing in different walks of life;
While we're yet groping, straining to find
Like a drunk the orifice of his wife--
Is shameful. Amenities are a far cry;
The well-being of the populace be yet
Poor; maternal mortality rate is high,
Besides other diseases that cause death.
Politicians vain many a title flattering
Love, as well as to be singing their praises
For doing and achieving less than nothing,
When plenty souls daily poverty dire face.
To other well-marshalled countries do travel
They and see how things there be better run.
I, like many, wherefore do often marvel,
Why they can't situation around goodly turn.
The monies in Nigeria that are  being looted
Be beyond sufficient to fix the decaying
And nonexistent infrastructures. Well rooted
Is corruption, the chief cause of our pains harrowing.

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.

To thrive better in this vying life
We push and shove and nudge
One another, that we can an edge
Have on others as we do strive.

With a knife sharp and scheming
Close colleagues' throats are cut
To assume that lofty coveted spot
By covert mischief and designing.

Yet promotion from God alone can
To us come; it is never by our might.
We all cannot the head overnight
Be; turn by turn it is, O sly man.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Though mine eyes do the beholding
In probing, scanning and reviewing:
Measuring quantity against quality;

And though the scales of mine eyes
Unsteady are, altering like weather,
As my sight's balances beauty rank
By the ratio of its carat to dross,
Which are counterpoising each other
Like Michael and Lucifer--the frank

And the false; yet put I the manipulation,
The entire enterprise of my intention

Upon my heart. For though these eyes
Fairness understand but are unwise
Still to fathom the depth of love
On those twain pans of duplicity.

The beckoning ***** to the heart
Must thus tilt the weight in reckoning
Affection that the lop-sided lips wooing
A gold precious of a great rate,
That bears the hallmark of a prized proof,
May win no bauble nor feigned fancy.

Thou about canst prance
   As a winnin' horse,
            Of course,
Seein' thou hast a sportin' chance
To court that sweet Princess
Now with thy plucky success.

Wish I thee, love Jockey, a good ride
If she becometh thy goodly bride.

Love not m'heart
at
a lower rate, stringing me along.

The fall of any man is
hid
in forbidden things.

On a Sunday morn he by the
Holy Ghost power arose, the third
day from the merciless Sheol--
the Saint who for the sinners died,
when he was cruelly crucified,
that Friday noon on Calvary's cross,
to redeem many a perishing soul.

Like a sloop in mid ocean toss
To and fro by a wind boisterous,
Whose fortune is past help and hope, seems he
Among the flotilla of his game--supposedly.

Remember i about two seasons or years
Agone, when it was bruited to my ears
By some analysts and commentators alike,
That the player probably might not strike
Home a Grand Slam at all in his career.
The critics, howbeit, this day wrong were
Proven for his fate changed, when the hand
Of heaven which, as it wills, doth command
The affairs of man, causes at once to cease
The waves, turning a seeming failure to success.
For there in that distant land of America did
That ever presistent and optimistic, avid
For, focusing on a title Andy Murray of Britain,
At last his first Open Tennis Trophy obtain.

No theory new doth his crown prescribe;
Only that a man should likewise subscribe
To those ancient proven principles: believe
In God and thyself, and sincerely give
To every pursuit of life thine very strength and
Power; and whether the occasion be a Grand
Prix or Slam, allow nay no rollicking pundit
Thy faith to cast down. For like a bandit
Are negative words; they do rob the heart
Of its courage and confidence for the most part.

Yea, at 25, the British boy berthed eventually,
Despite the storms, at the harbour of victory.

Love unfeigned, how can it be
Truly known: by deed or by word?


Take old Sisera for example, my lady,
Who fled with his glittering sword
To the tent of Jael, the beloved wife
Of Kenite, from the face of Barak.
And of her requested he for his life
Water, and she in action was not slack
To offer him milk instead, and did cover
Him again with a blanket. Sleeping in peace,
She crept softly to him with a hammer
And nailed down his temple with ease.
Yet to her did he entrust his safety,
Seeking from the smasher vain security.


Consider Joab, too, how he by his fine
Speech killled Amasa his worthy cousin;
Taking his beard with his right hand
As though he would give him a kiss grand,
Whilst his left hand had a thirsty dagger
Waiting; and he pierced the good feller
Through with his wicked blade. How the tongue
Of men do flatter oft in order to do wrong!

isn't only in the number
of likes and reads and
comments obtained,
but also in it own self.

Would you still love me:
If the sun prevents its light
And the moon its glow at night,
That all at once becomes gloomy?

Would you still love me:
If all things awry go
And nothing at all to show,
But a good token of misery?

Would you still love me:
If my arrow cannot kiss
Thy waiting bow's release,
To have a bout of ecstasy?

Would you still love me:
If medical reports say "cancer "
That has no surgical answer,
Or another form of infirmity?

Or would you only love me:
If my life wields a touch of Midas
With the revelry of Las Vegas--
All sublime, all sweet, all rosy?

Upon her faithful frame togs
Of beauty hangs;
Rosy robe, smelling myrrh.


All the go love is unambiguous--
Nought hid; clear
Like glass, soft like foulard.

Grace to live righteous,
Grace to love neighbour
And enemy and my cross
To bear: give me, O Saviour,

In a world where many people
Often use God's name to act evil.

Sweet things coming out of China,
like that cheesy sheila.

**, 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.

Birth is by two ways:
labour and lancet.
Nope,--three.

When remember I all the excellencies
That make us go into supreme ecstasies
Will someday be rotting fast away
In the grave and eventually turn to clay,
How my merry heart droopeth down
At once, letting go of my lady's gown!
  And my risen sun it duty shelves.
    
    The same fate thee awaited,
       Even if thou wilt be cremated.

So all those ravishing things of jolly joy
Which heaven on women glaring bestows
That turn a beefy man to a lackey boy
Shall by and by become the shadows
           Of themselves!

Howbeit I recalled the words of Solomon,
That man needs must relish is ***** wife
And his chosen work in this vain life,
Hence my hanging duty again was done
            In jolly, jolly yummy
     With honey, honey mummy.

That summer day afore I did depart:
Like those merchant ships of Tarshish
Which sailed not once from their home port
Were my words affectionate to that dish,
They never my mouth left to her ears forth,
Failing her feelings as a buckleless belt
A sagging trouser. Though cold feet I felt
Nay; howbeit it's for her squeamish heart.
Yet I, beholding her supine in her pink bikini
On the beach with a lollipop, was musing honey.

Asked I eventually for her name.
And she to me said, Miss Summer ***.
And thine? required the the fair dame.
          I'm Sexton. Yes,
    The Sixth Sexton Durex.

Told I her as she's frolickin' 'bout me free.

Although looketh she supernaturally gay,
On that beach, in her birthday suit;
But seein' we two were in pursuit
Of Sainthood could we not Hollywood play--
Except 'gainst temptation to pray,

From which a man should rather flee!

Blood, ***** it not, this bug,
But away doth it sap the strength
Upon the mat during a chaste merriment
Any time loves sacred feast is had,
When the flesh is stark, raving mad
Its oats to get as bodies cut a rug.

Silvery sound love issues
forth,
but
m'heart can't dance
any more.

Not all kisses are kisses true.
That I do and from the Bible know
How Judas Iscariot did Jesus show
By a kiss and betrayed Him thru'.

Gall, many do hide neath the nectar
By giving venom for honey.
Many a love professed be phoney
That leaves the heart with some scar.

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.

Said she would love him in winter
And summer, regardless of what the
World might do, even sin and Lucifer.

Though Apollo should forge his warhead
In the fiery furnace of the sun,
Though Diana vacates not the bed
Of succulent roses in the morn;

Yet, with him said she would tarry.

But she left him unannounced;
With another has she been hooked.

Though like the kings and queens was she
Born who in lordly bricks palatially dwell,
And like the presidents that rule by majority
Votes the Republic, and like the verily well-
Pruned governors and mayors of states and cities
That live by the plough of the citizenry,
And like those folks of noble duties
Who delicately deck and behave benighly;
Yet this live in inclement circumstances, a
Woman nuts and partly ****. The round-
About her abode hath been and there the sheila--
Come rain, come shine--is lugubriously found.

Why--the successes of our
Neighbours envy we seriously,
Coveting every passing hour
Their earned accolades highly?

Yet all men are not asame
In grace given and accomplishment
had; our gift, fortune and fame
From one another is so different.

He that will the world
remould
should first himself recast.

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.

Striking words that ignite
an inferno.
Flame that's never infinite.

They aren't supposed to be here,
Yet there are they in limbo,
Bearing the affections of any that show:
The innocent abandoned babies dear.

To some parents and homes they too belong
But in home for the fosters are they being nurtured,
And people about have become people around
Those beautiful children forlorn so long.

And never in akimbo our love should stand,
For good help must reach and kiss them now
From folk full of kindness's brow
Lest their destiny be buried in quicksand.

No holier-than-thou mien do I exhibit,
O merciful God, nor a stupid conceit
Display afore Thy unblemished sight at all.
For Thou wilt cause the high man to fall,
Whose proud heart is lifted up in iniquity.
Wherefore myself humble I ere Thee,
        O Savior gracious,
             Christ Jesus.

A woman sans beauty code brilliance
And behaviour good is altogether dead.
Even a strumpet doth possess a semblance
Of those, let alone a wife whose head
And habits ought to be cultured code right.
Though up a jade can her appearances light

By reshaping her natural cast in the forge
Of a beauty parlour, making a devil like an angel
To seem; yet her mien and mentality shalt divulge
The truth. The smarts and demeanour of a damsel
Sublimer speak to the heart than the artifice
Of outward lustre, which's nay for marriage suffice.