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.

Love has killed
m'heart,
which should have made
it
live.

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.

When we sleep or die,
know not where we lie.

On earth half alive is he
that be without money.

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!

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.

You will not be able to
Open nor bolt your door;
Answer nor dial your phone;
Send nor reply a text
For you had  already said goodbye
To this world, en route to the next.

Hithertofore if thou hast been by the bed-
Side of one that's betwixt life and death--
For whose state even a flinty heart bled--
Who for his dire health under his breath
Could barely speak and as Job the finest meal
Loathed for his circumstances was yonder food
And on top no pleasantness more did he feel;
Thou, meseems, in thine melancholy mood
    Might this in thy heart ponder:
To the Christian and to the atheist
To the high and to the fellow low
To the worshipper and to the priest
To the fast fella and to the slow
To the fool and to the very wise
To the seeker of hell and paradise--
   If you're not inured, more you'd wonder
Of such that's beyond the mercy of medicine,
Though not heaven that cleanses away man's sin--
   With one destiny shall all men be met:
   One birth . . . one life . . . one death.

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.

Jilted heart, benumbed.
Feelings died and interred
in forlorness' grave.

Darkness and death
Cannot cast their pall
Yonder this fallen earth
Over life and light at all.

Where abideth in thee
                My love,
          Fluttering dove,
  In thine heart or in thy belly?
I mayn't though have been to school,
       Yet am no Passion's fool.

It could Satan's cohorts cause, what portly
Political figures earn, to forsake his camp
And anon join the fray to the fat fiscal treasury
Of the country squander; and that to a cramp.
The pay plus pecks in a year they receive
Will most citizens in their lifetime never sniff.


So some who covet crazily such a mega-cheque
Also seek the same office for the easy favours.
Since our paunchy purse will at their own beck
And call be, they thus make elections endeavours
A  dagger thing;--that if they cannot God's gross
Gold get, they must anyhow have the devil's dross.

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

******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.

On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!

Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.

Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of  no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.

A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?

Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.

Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.

Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause

and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:

apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.

Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.

Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,

googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,

gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting  upon the weightless walls

to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.

With Muse filled;
Semenal words are
on the parchment spilled.

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.

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.

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.

Difference between You
and me is:
You're firm, I'm fickle.

The breath sweet in my nostril a comely gift
Is; a privilege rare, not by right earned,
And sound sleep that doth the soul lift
Out of the mire of weariness, and
Pink health, journey mercies,
and true love,
With the company of dear friends and family.
Many are the blessings that from above
To us come--children, crib and bread daily.

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.

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?

Though we weep for our own
Departed dears, whose souls had flown
To yonder shores, that had left us
Behind in utter sorrow for quietus.

Yet, they on the other hand in heaven,
When beholding us earthly men
From their abode of bliss, would wish
That we could join them with a swish.

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

Your marriage is going to to fill a large part
Of your life, and the only way to be truly
Satisfied is to marry who you believe is
Great partner. And the only way to have
Great home is to love your spouse.

If you have not found him/her yet; keep
Looking. Don't settle. As with all matters
Of the heart, you'll know when you find
Him/her. And, like any great relationship, it just
Gets better and better as the years roll on.

I shall bear at all no grudge
I shall no lie white or black tell
I shall nothing evil or funny forge
Nor will I fry another man's damsel:
These and more are proclamation
Mere upon the mouth of a fool
And an idiot; he can't transgression
Overcome, who do not his members rule.
So require I no empty resolution
again this year, O my dearest soul,
Like in the years past, but salvation
which can make a man's heart truly whole.

Took I the heavy sack of my sin
And dragged it into the sea
Of salvation--watched it drowning
To the bed of grace and mercy.

Thou my chick if we cling unto virtue
Shalt have no reason to give in to vice.
I know mine heart my goggling eyes
May lure by a charming babe anew.

So no power, save grace, have we to ward
Off enchanment nor those daily advances:
For many a bloke hankers after thy graces
As many a witch wants me to go wayward.

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.

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.

God often would I rather have than gold;
I'd rather choose Jesus over the universe.
My heart do nay become perverse
That you may prosper in this world old.

But seek always first, my dear soul,
The Lord's way and his righteouness,
Letting go of all earthly frivolousness;
Then wilt thou find fulfilment whole.

For many there are with gobs of money
That possess, in simple term, riches great;
Yet who this vain life doth never sate
Their heart that is thirsty and hungry.

Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in
Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay
While it's still displaying on the eastern tray
Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling
Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn--
Though tough--to him that seek thy burn.

Gladly go not one but twain miles with
Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully
To widows cream bread and wine; the needy
And orphans--whether you're rolling in it--
Never neglect, and make no open show
Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow.


Make mammon thy master nay. Believe
The Bible though you cannot It fathom
Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom
Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave.
Both parents and priests honour, and men
In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen.

Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery.
In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where
Robbers and rust have no access nor share.
For worldly wants, soul, never you worry--
Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need,
Who gives in season due to the sower seed.

Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness
The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences
Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence
By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness
Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy
***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie.

The log in thine own eyes first remove
Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge
Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge.
Such measure from others expect to them give--
Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow
Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.

'Twixt night and morning
is eternity of hope
in suffering.

I hope I can hit
In time a buddie
And make by and by
Also an eagle with thee;

And to round, on this
Green, our skittish game off
Together at three
Under par, my swinging dove?

Whilst in bed, thou knowest not at
All what about thee is transacting more
In life, for thou altogether therein art
Oblivious even to thine own existence core.

And all thy earthly goods thou wilt
Never remember--not even a pin in your
Possessions--as you shut eye on thy quilt
Or on thy sack, dreaming with a snore.

Thy soul, in sleep, is at ease from angst--
Worrying nay itself over the Dow Jones swinging.
Thou art in a subconscious mode and canst
Tell nought of what in the world's happening.

Save for stertorous breathing--the
Sign of life, sleep is simply as death!
And in both man is hapless verily,
Whether he lieth in bed or in a casket.