"herdsmen" poems
Miles and miles of sand
with no horizon in view,
the caravan moves on -
in search of an oasis.
The heat is treacherous,
the sand is scorching,
the camels are tired
and so are the herdsmen.
The journey is long,
the day will almost be gone
and darkness will reign again
until another day dawns.
The desert’s dreadful distances,
the weather’s vicious whims,
the camels’ callous restlessness
all add to the herdsmen’s hardship.
Roadless tracks
of sand and rocks
where tall, wild cactuses abound
with many sand dunes around.
The Sahara -
a natural oven -
bakes humans and camels alike
leaving scattered mortal remains.
A sandy landscape
in shades of light fawn
with deceptive mirages
inviting thirst again.
The journey is long
with no sign of an oasis.
But the caravan must move on…
Inshallah – until we meet again.
Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3:15 pm
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:58 AM UTC
At morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands;
He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands;
The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between
A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green.
"Oh, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee!
Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must they be!
I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art,
But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs my inmost heart."
He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear
A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near;
They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dance across;
The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss.
The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring,
She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to the ring,
They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers,
"And ** young Count of Greiers! this morning thou art ours!"
Then hand in hand departing, with dance and roundelay,
Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the Count away.
They dance through wood and meadow, they dance across the linn,
Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in.
The second morn is risen, and now the third is come;
Where stays the Count of Greiers? has he forgot his home?
Again the evening closes, in thick and sultry air;
There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering there.
The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down;
You see it by the lightning--a river wide and brown.
Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar,
Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore.
"Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain dell.
Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell.
Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout,
While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried out.
"Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks!
Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched thy flocks!
Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot,
That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not?
"Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein,
Thy soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not again!
Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track,
And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back."
1.4k
One more creation was abandoned
Neglected by incapable lads
Flocks to clueless herdsmen
Sheep with feckless purpose
Drooling to episodes of their disgusting chivalry
Their gold and silver were made of flesh
Trophies of broken women and promises
- Foolish sons and uncles
Daughters and aunties are creators
They watch the night like fearless combatants
Between the wretch of men and the future
These women stood like guardians
Ready to take every blow, every curse, all the crap
Just because one more creation will survive
- Believing lasses
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
He manipulate his friends
and eliminate his enemies by
his cunning craftiness.
And he thinks he has won.
He cries wolf before he falls.
There's a mountain between us,
and he can never be like you
for he is darned.
He is not worthy of your friendship.
He belongs to the circle
of the dreaded assassins,
head of the herdsmen,
their creed is deep,
terrible and terrifying indeed.
Fear the one that is horribly terrifying
for he is after your life.
How does this whole thing landed
within you and what shifted as a result.
Run for your life,
he will not have mercy.
Wickedness is wrought in him.
The gull of bitterness and
hatred surrounds him.
He will be consumed by the same
fire he has set.
There's no freedom for the
one who enslaves anyone,
his weakness is made manifest
for he is a coward.
Professing to hate corruption,
he fights it with a slack hand,
and a lying tongue,
a deceiver not to be trusted.
He eats corruption as a bread of sorrow.
Woven around him as a spiders web,
he seeks destruction for the naive
as well as the elite.
The one who cannot publicly address you
but only through another to get
his messages across to those
he proclaimed to rule,
hiding behind the iron curtain,
surrounded by deadly killers.
Never will he rule again even as a
weakling that he is.
He will woefully fail as always,
for he is not knowledgeable and
has no good plans for you.
Wished he's smart enough to see
how dumb he is.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC
The time to wail has always been here
Every day we suffer the consequences owned by the heirs
Not for once have they worn our shoes
They have refused to please our clues
Yet they devise new means of sitting on the throne
Without giving in to our daily moan.
Hypocrites
Meetings upon meetings
Agbada upon dansiki
Designer upon latest trends
Convoy upon macho guards
Yet they proclaim it’s all vanity.
Hypocrites!
In the end of the fashion rally at the house,
Worthless Nothing of importance is established
But the cake is diminished
And then they blame it on poor rats. Hypocrites!
Blame them and no one else!
Because it’s their selfish interest they fight for and not us.
From the doom by boko haram
To the slaughter by herdsmen.
Hypocrites!
Don’t we see it!
The people get to die
But they live to see their greatest grandchildren
While their billion dollar ready made coffins rot in the backyard.
Hypocrites!
God is the ultimate judge
Only God can make the evil one right in his sight.
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
retrieved from the wreckage / the box reveals the final seconds / descent into panic / end of the line of flight / true disco / the call of the empty air / an unknown diva singing out her heartache / pastoral idylls in smoking ruins / the once-green Sahara / the herdsmen’s piping to the vanished flocks / it’s all there in the black box / the pilot’s final glimpse / earth rising / the ultimate kiss of terra firma / semiotext(e) / disco-bolo / temporary autonomous zones / islands of intensity / siren song of the eternal queen / spades & clubs / vistas of urban sadness seen in passing from a car window / something lost, found, and lost again forever in the early 1990’s / woe to those who hear too much in a cheap dance tune…
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
Born in a remote village somewhere in the North
Yaro
Where the fulanli herdsmen twirl sticks as they guard cattles
Yaro
Makes one remember that boy in the bible who tended to his father's sheep all day
Yaro
Life was rosy, bed warm and cosy.
Mother was called "Mama" and age stricken father was "abba".
I sometimes wondered who matchmaked them
Mother looked like she was babysitting the world
Father looked like he was going to die any minute
But they loved me and that was all my infant mind wanted
For you see I was nothing but a
Yaro.
I loved the mornings, when goats where being let out of sheds
And I ran around the huts in our compounds
In between my father's leg and over my mother's lap
Bowls of koko and ***** of kosai couldn't quieten me.
I never knew your breakfast of "Kellogs varieties" or
One apple a day, to keep the doctor at bay.
For you see I was nothing but a
Yaro.
But I was alright or so I thought.
The afternoons were spent chasing Hassan and Hussein
Those "wicked" twins who would not allow our chickens rest
My world was coloured brown, brown goats, brown huts
Brown sand, brown faces and maybe brown hearts.
Brown was the only colour in the world except of course
The sky, which was blue sometimes and white at other times.
One day, when you were still in homes covered with zinc
Father pulled me out of bed and handed me over to some fierce looking men
Mother wouldn't look at me, Hassan and Hussein stood far away.
Father was the one holding me so I knew he was not dead yet.
He handed me my new pair of slippers and pointed to the men
"They'll teach you life," he said.
"But.." I replied only to be cut short by the sting of a slap
"You're nothing but a..."
"Yaro", I replied.
So this was it..I was leaving me behind.
Mother hid behind her layers of clothing like a coward
Father stood proud like an English man
I stood with all of them around me feeling nothing
But what my Yaro mind allowed me to feel.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
A trip to the Balkans
with family in tow
and Cycle Albania
to light up the show!
There was Erlis and Rimi
(and Junid to track)
an itinerary
that would not look back!
First stop, Tirana
in the downtown core
with cafes and bars
and music galore
There were hints in the air
of a Communist cast
which the vibrant city
had long moved past
A shuttle to Ohrid
and cruise of the lake
the flora and fauna
left no mistake
Lunch on the terrace
and a trip to St. Naum
the monastery
…so peaceful, and calm
We plateaued to Korçë
through a patchwork of farms
the herdsmen and sheep
held so much charm
A tour through the city
with cultural notes
the cobble stone streets
beyond reproach
A climb through the mountains
in thundering rain
to the Sotire Farm
what a lovely domain!
There were goats and donkeys
and kindly old dogs
but the favorite of all
were the scampering hogs!
We slept like babies
and left in the morn
through the high pine forest
and fields of corn
Down through the mountains
and rivers and streams
the “Presidential Descent”
was an absolute scream!
A freshly paved stretch
(roughly 17k!)
Jaglin was off
and on her way!
A guesthouse for lunch
in the village of Benje
the evening’s Raki
would have its revenge!
To the sanctuary pools
(across the Ottoman bridge)
the healing and soothing
of miracle ridge
Into the valley
and over the gorge
to Gjirokastër
where roots were forged
Alleys and walk ways
and tight quiet streets
castles and churches
that met no defeat
A storybook city
with an historic past
we savored the buildings
and white wall cast
Off to Sarandë
…the Ionian coast!
a rustic old ferry
and ruins, with ghosts
The site of Butrint
“...from a world gone by”
we travelled in time
with a lullaby
Corfu at a distance
Himarë in reach
we swam in the ocean
and drank on the beach
Himarë to Vlorë
a spectacular day!
7 turns to the top
what a view of the bay!
Hairpins and kickbacks
so tranquilly warm
“...*the thighs are burning
like a lightning storm*!”
Lunch at the peak
and down to Vlorë
picking up speed
and a mighty roar!
Winds off the shoreline
sun at a high
the smells and sounds
as seabirds fly
The final stretch
with the finish in view
we crossed the line
…The Peloton Crew!
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 11:54 AM UTC
In the clearing
where lambs graze
our daughters also
walk at their leisure
toward school
...
there are no fences here
the shepherds allegedly
keep watch in the darkest of hours
but when steps from
an intersecting path
lunge forth as
the unsuspecting wolf
a twisted creature
upon our precious girls
these herdsmen are
certifiably blind and mute
neglectful staffs
striking the air
...
listen closely now
to the gathering winds
their transformation is actually
echoes of our own children's
eternal cries
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 10:19 AM UTC
Cattle’s rear by men
Ask for less yes grass and water
Fulani herdsmen in my country
Agitates for too much for their cattle’s
Their taste for human blood
70 gallons the last they drank
And innocent yokes of unborn fetus
Sat there my over 70 president
His hand fastened to his chin
All he can do is chew his cud
And cows coup and cheerfully moo
If we all die who will eat their beef
I can smell the blood of my brother
Wasted on the map of Nigeria
Do you find rest in the Aso Rock
While many continue to die in cold blood
KUVAR
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 6:40 AM UTC
The demons begged to stay in town,
the Lord gave them permission.
But not in him, into the pigs,
commanded the physician.
Herdsmen begged the Lord to leave,
afraid of what they’ve witnessed.
And so returning to his boat,
he left them with their sickness.
Ex demon man did also beg
he asked, could he come with him.
But since the Lord was now to leave,
he left him with a mission.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 8:05 PM UTC
it there was not a shallow
mighty as the waters hang
payloads fell and footpaths gave
to mercy they will never ask
whom murmurs softly send sincere
this sinking fife and drum
of burden's restless hum
calling wishing for a storm
remember summer and
gin and vague brotherhood
rising from coma with effervescence
(now look what you've done)
killer of the noble herdsmen
making nightmares should
not be this effortless
calm brings dear ones in
light embraces you
remember summer and
see it forever
rest your lids on that image
before darkness supplants tears
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Lyrical waterways,
Prepare for a backhanded slap,
Then a second blow;
I don't care about your personal
Problems, as long as it's written
Poetical, you and your weeping
Streams with a deluge of emotional
Lamented problems are tolerable
As long as it's written with some class.
Now give me your poems,
Though only few draw water,
I do not claim to be the best,
Merely a lover of it,
I will heart you, you will see
Lightning and like the child of a nymph
Be happy to see the fetching comments
I leave to you.
I will squeeze sweetness from you,
All it takes is a click, light footed words
I read beforehand when you copied
Off a poet you thought no one had
Read before( I study a lot more than you know)
Ever the herdsmen
I preach a doctrine of poetic originality,
And lately I see few worthy,
Myself included,
Now pucker your words like lips
And lavish this poem with a heart,
Or don't, I am real,
Or fake, and I only love poetry.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
Two wrongs can make a right
When two fighting elephants die, the grass enjoys peace
If 73 men must die, a single hair must not fall
If we must sober for our crops being grazed
and our loved ones being butchered, then we get drowned in our own tears
If we must sleep in the cold breeze of the night,
With our eyes wide open, and our mind hanged to our hands,
convenient the cattle.
Let me cry now for my brother’s headache,
Not until I catch it,
Is this the change you have in mind?
I will not chase rats when my house is on fire
Since death is the mother of peace,
Let us die as one, for a peaceful generation to come
than be a ****** to this HERDSMEN.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Hi baby bread O' life so sweet
My joy you lay on hay of wheat
Hi Mary uptight yet so coy
Your eyes soar high and heart so buoy
Hi man beside the baby dear
Why the' look with so much fear?
He's the light of all the lights
Sent on earth with Gods delight
Let the world sing Gloria
Sing his praise hallelujah
The king of kings born
The might of sin is torn
Lo, herdsmen I'm lords messenger
A good-news borne I'm due here
At Bethlehem in Judea
A King of kings' born
A king for Israel you own
Go, find him on a manger
Past fence and pens and cages
Beside the Inns' passages
Let me greet the three; you sages
Seeking Lord for some ages
Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar
Come follow the guiding star
Bring frankincense, myrrh and gold
To gift the glory of the lord
The journey moves on symphony
Will end with Lord's epiphany
The king of kings born
The might of sin is torn
Let’s sing his glory and praise
And set smiles on every face
Let the world sing Gloria
Sing his praise hallelujah
The king of kings born
The might of sin is torn
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 5:14 AM UTC