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.

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.

"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."

Lady,

Give me neither dusk nor dawn--
Let it be either night or morn.
Lukewarm love brings no comfort
That can my heart transport.

If darkness, shall I take it so and *****
My way along until I make good;
But if the light will I here abide,
Searching no further far nor wide.

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

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.

Yours isn't the burden biggest
to have the soul saddest.

How she did the little me dispel
Like the wind drives away the hucks,
Like the sun scatter broad the clouds--
The verily high and vain damsel!
Thoug I be a low man, I know;
Yet shall I not to a swank bow.

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.

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

I wish i had a trillion;
But with this million,
I truly thank God.

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

The Pleiades and Orion, at the wedding
Of the sun and the moon, were worthy witnesses,
Like the snow that's robed in a white dress--
The suit with frost and flakes of ice made,
While the hail was in a nice garment clad
Laced with stones and was seated beside
The storm benign gazing, smiling with soft pride.
The rain, standing tall in the choir loft, adown
Was pouring rhythmic sounds in its falling gown,
Singing hallelujah chorus sweet accompanied by
The blazing thunder's rare grand piano nigh,
Making the clouds in its fair multi-coloured
The mode about to waltz; the dew was honoured
The good grace to say at solemnization ending.
And having man and wife become, the happy pair
Were by the Lord blessed with numerous stars fair.

**, 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.

His remains were borne away to the cementry
And were interred in a "G" marked grave finally,
Having led he a life of wine, women and
Song. He was therefore committed to the land
Of no returning more, who on this shore was
The philanderers' prince, using his john thomas
To make lucre off ladies libido--a ******.
For he knew how to set their body whole aglow
And ensured their ******, playing the field as
A merchant of amour in the Sin City of Las
Vegas and had a great liking for cards--
When easying up his muscles--and  for billiards.
He's a 6'4 and broad-chested feller; chunky
Enough for that **** business. A bloke beefy!

The very day he passed on, he had had five
Of his clients discharged, and each did arrive
On cloud nine safely. It's the sixth sweet sheila
That he was rocketing, with the help of ******,
When suddenly his heart failed him and
Stopped breathing at the time when his right hand
Was cupping up her beauteous bust and the other
Fondling her *** svelt, whilst his big brother
Had docked with hers on a titilating, ****** flight.
So perished he in the grips of her thighs tight.
I will laden thee nay with the autopsy report
Of how he did die while swinging back and forth
In his bed, trying to make gamut of his jollies,
Since it cannot remedy at all his follies.
And though he did gain through his lucrative-sin
Affairs fortune, which doth spice up life, the thing
That many do after pursue with fame; yet it's be-
Come, by his departure at 32 to yonderland, vanity.

All through is the heart with tommy rot
Filled. And much volume of flowing waters
Can its evil filthiness wash away not:
The sea that unto the shores spatters
Of the world; neither can the earth's potent
Bleach remove away the dirt stubborn
From man's wicked heart, whose content
Spits out the fire of sin like a dragon.
Nevertheless only a droplet of the blood of
God's Lamb--the Messiah--more than
Able is to cleanse once and for all the tough,
Stinking stains away from the soul of man.
And whiter than snow shall he surely be
That bathes in the shed blood of Christ truly.

Voyaging for grass green
And fortune to a foreign
Land, at sea many met--
The migrants--their death.

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.

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.

Behind closed doors the thing,
       My lovely chirpy dolly,
    You and I have wrought
    Is now being openly seen
    In thine protruding belly.

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.

Her presence is smelling
on the
sheet of my being.

Remov'd, affection horn . . .
heavy flood of tears flowing--
blood emotional's gushing
out from a heart broken.

Certainly time will blow the memory
By and by of our existence away.
Only our shadows will then remain verily
In words and deeds, anyway.
Few our efforts and names will recall in this place,
Nonentity or celebrity, king or slave
And even the affluence in life now displays
Will surely melt and slide into darkness itself,
For despite the greatness of our achievements
Into oblivion all men shall sink
While the gist and praise of today's glories
From distant lands someday will echo back.
We're born to die once and die to live again,
Yet none shall live more who die not born again.

Few cartoon characters have suffered
like Tom . . . yet not dead.

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.

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.

Taking the roughs with
the smooths;
appreciating God oft.

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.

.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.

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.

Between then, choosy bull, and now
When you did throw me apace over
For some smarter and lovelier cow;
I've become the brightest and a killer.

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.

Why art thou staying still my breath,
Who suppose to have long perished?
Why dost thou count me amongst
The living, that ought to have vanished?

To life am I not entitled for many
A reason--am unworthy of being;
Yet with thy strong arm of grace
Hast thou been blessing me, O heaven.