Casting the old flame's gear
away,
garbing a new wear.

If it is only *** spirited and jolly
That gives utter joy in fading life;
Then that priest pious and holy,
Who must not have a darling wife--
Seeing he hath pledged to celibacy--
Will never experience earthly ecstacsy.

And if it is alone gluts of money
That do ensure the soul's bliss
And peace; then that ascetic crony--
The friar--who did willingly kiss
And vowed wholly to worldly poverty,
Neither will know also prosperity.

But, nay; it's neither cash nor coitus
That gives the heart satisfaction surplus.
Rather it be Jesus supreme and superior
That guarantees man intense joy interior.

"Oh!" my wretched soul aloud sighed
In lamentation over its solitude,
For in vain its happiness hangs
Thus cannot rest more on earthly bliss.
And countless of homilies have I heard
More oft than dialy bread
From different parsons, pastors, and persons sent,
Yet melting merriment merry meet.
But just too well too late
The Holy Spirit to me spake
That the choice is merely mine
To seek true hope from Jesus's pouch,
That whether in him believe and happiness have
By walking faithfully on paradise course
Or reject him and eternal regrets get
By charging on with lunacy on perdition's
Path. Please, let me alone with godly choice
To know what joy salvation really brings
Through what Christ alone in  Calvary did
By giving what verily matters to the world!
And to this new unquenchable truth aligned myself
Not to misplace again priorities first; instead
Gracefully and obediently walk toward that home,
Where my mansion be a stately stead.

She by him like an angel always stood.
Her presence often gave him true joy
And warmth, her words were like food
To his soul, and never was his love coy
In her heart, nor was her affection with
Guile beclouded too. She's a babe unique--
Decking out in virtue, diligence and divine wit,
One that could make mortal men weak.
Howbeit she has left him in the lurch all alone,
His life and authorship to paddle on his own.

Like this to me doth this issue seem:
That a man falling in hot love with
A fraulein at first--a verily dream
Damsel--would be thinking forthwith
The world of her, and would not
Notice in her even a single fault.
And he all earthly treasures may
Her promise--saying things that never
To light would come in order to sway
The heart of that babe like Lucifer
Eve deceived. "Make my mouth thine pit,
Peach, and i'll swallow up thy sweet ****."
Yet having wedded her at last whom he,
By her comeliness, was moved; why then
Would a man his wife--the perfect lady--
Afterward seek to divorce? Most men
Do choose alone by our wandering sight,
Seeing not marriage with an eternal insight.

Heaven high shall I not promise thee;
Nevertheless you will experience no hell
For thou shalt suffer at all no necessity.
But touching thy luxury, I never can tell.

So thine is, O lady luscious, my salary all.
And as you like thou mayest it expend
Along with my royalties so dear but small,
And my banker can my account suspend.

Strutting like a lion as though i had
In my cent-packed wallet a million
Toward the belle enchanting. I, a chap
Plucky from my teens, have learnt dominion
Over cheeky fear and cowardice
By tutoring myself at least thrice
Fold in uttering plain convincing speech
Betimes to she who my eye and heart
Will lure by her graces, a maiden that
Her goodness doth to my soul preach.
Though confidence may win me a popsy
Fair; yet it can't fill her empty belly.

Let no mouth your brain believe.
Sift from wheat
Every chaffed words with sound

Judgment. Praise you will receive
Surely of men,
But balance your head aground.

For blarney do quickly persuade,
Swaying
Swiftly a lady's heart off course,

By calling teffeta the best brocade,
Placing for ruin
A fool upon a regal, gammy horse.

Babe, how the similitude of an angel
Thou hast from thy sole to thy crown!
Unblemished art thou in frame, I so can tell,
But can't guess what in thine heart's sown.

Luscious is thine outer body, which can make
A sane fella hellfire choose to gladly go,
When he God's Law doth foolishly break;
Yet I shall fly on cloud nine with thee--no.

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.

No excess drink of beer and wine
Which sparkle and taste verily fine,
    Thou my quaffing mouth,
Neither of whiskey nor of brandy
That does make feelings randy
And turns a gent to a lager lout.

                  Altogether
Transient merriment it giveth and succour
    To the soaked jolly soul--much liquor--
          I do, my goblet, gather.

As though the breeze would carry
Her words across the sea
Right from within this cosy bower
To some far away places
And be heard also in the palace
Of the Queen of England,
When she whispered to me--my grand--
Delightful dame, in the raw:
"Art thou a one-trick pony
In play, my stallion honey?"
"Nay!" quipped I with guffaw.
I can mount fore and aft,
Thy fount, as it's apt.
Then did I turn on the shower--
The showers of blessing on her with care
From the station she did to me declare.
And therefrom I did hence perspire,
Besides, in deference to her soul's desire.

Much it wafts into my nose
     The smell strong of your perfume,
      Filling the well-appointed room
       Up with the fragrance of rose.
How well-scented art thou, my dear dame!
And stronger and sweeter still is thy foxy frame.

Yea, thou needest nay at a loss to be.
That's the way of milk-and-honey people,
Whose flirting feet are set to flee
The instance one's riches out fizzle.

For many a friend ***** and even family
Will forsake, leaving thee alone to deal
With and wax fat in the deep bowl of poverty,
At the turn of rotary fortune's wheel.

Life into variant classes is made
Demarcating first from economy,
Where many fills up the cabin
Tail, who don't have pretty penny.

Same flight, but distinct delights;
One world, yet peculiar living.
Each exists by their own ticket
With cloned greetings and grin.

She on the Twentieth
   Street liveth
In a plush penthouse;

And I in my own rustic crib
  Live by my ancient nib;
And for love, I'm no mouse.

The dollybird useth iThings
  Those by Apple made,
While I by my little things
  Run my blessed trade.

Though no kingly life
I do presently live
Nor have now fortune and fame
      Great, high queenly dame;

And I mayn't a costly gadget
        At the moment avoid
Like that dear iPhone or tablet;
Yet make not my affection void:

        I can be a commoner,
     But do need nay a coroner.

The time haply hath come for her to burn
Off the chaff, as the Arab Spring, in turn:
Plenty here are already living in earthly hell
Whose souls in lack and want daily dwell--
Sans meals, sans clothing, without electricity,
Without job, without warmth, and sans salary--
Who from heaven's providence good do fend,
Whose expectations and fulfillments on it too depend;
Yet this present president against the citizenry
Welfare hath gone ahead still the oil subsidy
Sensitive to remove, doubling and trebling forthwith
The price of things to a cut-throat level; he wit-
Less, meseems, is our economy dire to manipulate
Sensibly  and cannot such consequence great calculate
Hence adding to our festering injury salt of hardship,

Who was voted into office to manoeuvre this ship
Out of doldrums, for whose victory lives perished
As their faithful flames into eternity vanished
During the ugly mayhem that did ensue after the
Presidential election of last Spring,
dying untimely.
This, sailor sterile, is our reward from thee, methink,
By making this giant vessel of Nigeria to deeper sink!

Zaftig ******* droop . . . ***** becomes
flaccid . . .
dark hair turns grey.

Down from ten she counted, the lass,
For me to leave straightway her place.

Peradventure she hath found another
Who in substance is far richer
                Than I.
    And haply he is popular
             Like a popstar.

I too, perhaps, needs must go explore
Those galaxies of starry girls the more;
          But love I her still.
Besides not having an astronaut's skill,
My heart never can fly.

Out the cot
man goes
to return
to the coffin.

Where will i be
and
what will i be
doing, my soul,
at
the trump sound--

in the church God worshipping,
or in a club others gossiping,
with a strumpet hot in a hotel
or brothel, or with my own damsel--

if thou art yet alive,
when Christ shall here arrive?


Where wilt thou be,
my being,
when
the trump shall blast
at last--

will i not still be keeping malice
with so-and-so Allan and Alice;
wilt thou nay be chasing after riches
and classy cars and comely chicks--

if i am yet alive,
when the King above shall here arrive?

Make me and my affection no castaway
Wherein this love-ship together we sail.
In every earthly tempest and gale,
Will I on my part steadfast be alway.

Wilt thou this relationship abandon
And to another guy in seeming easy
Circumstances decamp, dear popsy,
Relishing thyself with him, having fun?

Behold, but let it nay an impediment
Be, beauteous babe, my faltering lip,
Because grandiloquence is the very flip
Side, save on the spur of the moment,
Of love; neither my pausing mouth
Consider which seemingly lacks fancy gait
And uttereth its words haltingly straight
Like a verily soaked clumsy lager lout.
Though my solemn tongue pauses, perfect peach,
The lines of my love do make a sublime speech.

But on this occasion he calls that his
Bottled up feelings in a flurry to the sis
Can be expressed--to say "he loves her."
So thirteen times he her number alone
Dialed; but she's not there with her phone
Until the epiphany departed from that feller.

Of a truth love I thee, glamorous lady.
I though no fortune nor fame have
Which mine I truly can call, save
In my heart affection's pretty penny.

Hope I my situation shall no impediment
Be to me having thy sweet sultry self?
Though I'll force for thee nay from hell pelf,
Yet shall I ensure thy heavenly enjoyment.

Even if for a decade that high rich man
Did not his business plough again
By leaving his many a big furrow
Of investments away to fallow;
He shall never in this life have
Any lack and want, nor shall crave
And beg he for ordinary food and meat
That his everyday portion he can duly meet,
Seeing by the almighty virtue of
His billions--a more than enough
Substance that has been tucked away for
Many years to come--succour
Of the soul there is for his family
And him: from poverty they're free.





Howbeit this other low indigent fellow,
Who does his cherished trade follow
iIn detail and with diligence daily--
Praying for favour divine early--
Is still like pigs wallowing in penury,
And having no house nor a Miss to marry.
Though he's a plumber that slumbers nay; thanks
Not at all to bad economy that betimes ranks
And puts him amongst the honourable poor,
Who're seeking noble relief from door to door,
Living an inclement life devoid of comforts.
Though working as a ******; yet his efforts
And daily striving are all but a waste,
An one that reckons as no pleasant taste.

Thy heart let her grace succour
Thus still thy wandering sight
All thy promises to her honour
Adoring her with thy main and might

Bring her misdeeds to a loving light
To her ears alone such acts reveal
Let rumours and rancours take flight
Rebrand not your angel a devil

Though thou art the head and above
Yet give thine Missis respect due
Daily, dude, many an alluring dove
Thou wilt often see, but none is new

So *** in the dark alley eschew
Your body from immorality refrain
For thine lady thy love ever renew
Every day her affection warmly retain

In thy choice work and woman exult
Glory to God give for every blessing
And him praise for thy labour's result
Sated be with your couch and calling

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!

In his hand pure gold he has,
Treasure rare of an exquisite kind;
Yet gave he up the courteous lass,
'Changing the essence with the rind.
And such's been the hot eyes of lust
That oft view the crumb as mere crust.

Having the lady of thine heart
Found, all the hangers-on forsake.
She alone thy bed must make
And shake in merriment's part.

Thy eyes to others' beauty close
That thine heart desire again, say,
The sultriness of another dolly nay;
But let thy wife's body be as a rose.

If no Christian priorly am i. And should all
I know about the David's Son was from the
Believers' lips. One act of Christ that shall
My vagabond soul convert is that poor lady,
Who was, by the righteous Jews, caught in
The act of adultery, and to the eternal Light
Was brought to be unto death ******. Stooping
Down, and with his finger began he to write
In the sand; rising up again, saying, he should the
First person be a stone at her to cast
Among the gathered accusers, who's from iniquity
Free and has committed, not in the time past
Neither in this present state, a single sin. And
They, hearing this, from the oldest head began
They to disappear--who had come to reprimand
The woman with a stoning sentence--one by one.
Having all gone, Jesus, thus asked the smasher:
"Woman, where are all thine many an accuser?
And hath no man condemned thee?" She answering
The Lord gracious, "No, sir." "Neither do i too,"
Said the Saviour. "Go, and sin no more, my darling."
Yea, such is the Messiah's love and mercy true!
To save came Christ, and not to sinners ****;
The only Prophet that liberated man from the Devil.

Even though I should have for thee
Feelings good, yet can I not possess
You more seeing thou hast been, Mistress,
Married to another bloke for eternity.

To be hitched hence with you again
Is to me forever  a desire moot.
Be delighted with thy hubby's fruit
As I seek my own seemly lady to gain.

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

Lubricating life with
pure love
doth remove
rust from the heart.

Though i should have a M. Maybach and Bently
And Ferari, owning houses in the world's
Chief cities--mansions worth millions
Of US dollars, with yachts and jets; and be
Decked in designers and a bespoke Rolex--
One that none again the very sort of
'Watch possesses; and with many a dove
Stunning be surrounded oft as we in ***
Roll hither and thither in uncensored ******;
And i should become for merriment an epicure;
Filling my head with diverse theories impure,
which give not mine soul that lasting bliss;
And though i should have plenitude of cash
Stashed in a vault away, with gold and diamond
Great; but if not for heaven i am bound
Afterward in afterlife, then, all is trash.

Doth lead to dark doom,
when it is given room.

Girl, so rare art thou like a comet.
You're a fair and comely nymphet.

Dying moments by shutter
captured.
Memories in living pictures
interred.

She, good signor, whom in stormy sea
With thee faithfully and firmly stood--
Steadying the family boat with fasting
And prayer whilst thou hard wert  rowing
Against tempest--should nay in peace
And prosperity be by thy head misunderstood
Nor for another girl be in thine eyes contemned,
Lest by heaven thy new blessing is ******.

Hungry, it'll seem
Like eating up a mountain.
Thirsty, it'll feel
Like drinking an entire sea.
And getting the sea,
Could barely guzzle a rivulet.
And obtaining the mountain,
Could hardly swallow a molehill.
For life is simply an empty chase
Without God the Maker of the universe.
Wherefore pant I for that immaculate fountain
To come and quench my thirst,
And I pine for such refreshing honey
To please fill mine whole heart.