About Dr Goddy

I am Priest Goddy the spiritual father Temple of Solution.

I am the most reliable spiritualist with evidence of my many good works. For over 37 years i have been helping people solve their problems. I have help so many people take away tears from their eyes and put smile on their face.

I can help you bring back your ex lover.

I can help you get the love of your life.

Is your husband or wife trying to leave you i can make them change their mind and love 10 times more than before.

Is there someone you like and you want them to love you very much i can do that for you.

If you are a girl and you want to get married to a rich and caring man i will do it for you.
Are you a woman who can't get pregnant come to me and i will make you pregnant and have healthy and beautiful children.

If you have financial problems or you want a good job or you want to win lottery or a big contract come to Dr Goddy Temple of Solution and let me help you.

Do you have health problem and the doctor says there is nothing they can do contact me and let me help you.

If you have relationship problem, personal problem, financial problem, health problem or you need guidance then contact me today and get your heart desires.

As you can see i am a man and a father and i do not ask for money before i help people, ok all i ask is from people i help is to send a gift to show their gratitude and the gift should come from the heart and it can be big or small. this is because i am very confident with what i do. Above all it gives me joy to help people and am always happy to solve people problems and make them happy but i do not like to help those who are not serious in solving their problem i only help serious people so if you have a problem and you want solution fast and you are serious of solving your problem and living the life that you want then contact me right away you can talk to me here  on my email drgoddy7spirit@gmail.com or on my whatsapp +2348125909477

I'm a teenager
I'm a submissive
I'm an aspiring housewife
I'm overweight
I'm bipolar
I'm someone's "girl"
I'm in love
I'm an Aquarius
I'm a daughter
I'm a human
I'm a spiritualist
I'm honest
I'm a gamer
And lastly, I want people to know me.
I don't know why, I just do.

Sociopathic spiritualist
Confused by this?
Ya gettin' the jist
Years in a green mist
Gorilla ****** at the sight of poachers hi-viz
Blatant thievery
Gettin' me irate & militant
Conductin' information like a cobalt filament
Hippocracies imminent
If you don't know the deal look at Africa's innocents
The future for a fee
Monitory
Cold as the Chukchi seas
If your wonderin' where they be?
Let go of Albert Square & check your geography
Menace to sobriety
Rudarellis playin' tennis with the moods it's supplyin' me
Preachin' no class As
Hittin' the mirror like the mans buyin' me

i want to climb a mountain,
i want to look upon the earth
from a different perspective.
to feel my feet flee from under me,
and to fall -
slip -
into a lucid madness.

i want to feel no fetter
as my body folds upon itself -
twisting free -
as the ground approaches me.
as the . . .
as the sum of existence comes to a point.

to be young and alone,
and your ears just wanna ring
and your eyes just wanna close,
to be young and alone
with no girl for the night.
(born in the wrong place
and at the wrong time)

it was in that one moment
that i was the
perfect level of righteous.
it was in that moment
that my vision
found a point of fixation.
it was in that moment,
when our eyes met -
when i was blinded by radiance -
that i heard myself whisper
' please destroy me. '

these thoughts travel upon
tracks derailed;
awaiting annulment,
awaiting loss,
awaiting rebirth -
awaiting eventual awakening.

"betray your gods
before they betray you,
before they deny you
your Soul."
(but i don't know why)
rearing,
i never spoke up,
to be unnoticed is
easy without a name.

a wanderlust spiritualist's
view of the world -
to be read.    to be found crazy.
and i was layin' me soul down
when i -
a nameless one -
must have whispered
' please, destroy me. '

you abided.

A vague spiritualist inspiration
A surreal surrealist practicing divination
Shivers abound for the wondering and the cold
Tumbling into the fathomless unknown

…

Everywhere an altar
Every being a sage
Every step, a falter,
But also, a turn of the page

Day by day I sit in wait
In this apartment of hell that I hate
Every day I open the blinds
to let in sunlight that I hope to illuminate
this dark soul of mine
Is it me that is blind
Is this prison that I perceive real or am I the one who is blind
Ask a spiritualist and they will say it is an illusion
Ask another and they will say it is how you look at it
Either way I am sick and tired
Of this anger that burns inside of me like a fire
Day after day and night after night my soul finds a reason
to moan and complain
My heart is tired and mad I've had enough
I will break out of this soul cage
A prison is not a home
Sometimes the innocent are made captive
Am I innocent or simply ungrateful
I know not the answers to these questions
I do know that I am fed up and I will not
Live my life for other people anymore
I am a lightworker
But if I only live my life for other people
then I am not shining my light am I
Which is what I came here to do
Maybe that will help me fulfill my mission to heal others

eternally confronted
each time Autumn slips away
by the ugliness of Christianity
blended perfectly with capitalism
as fat white middle-class *******
push and shove for the best deal –
my eyes recoil at the horror
as parents with the best intentions
place their children on a stranger’s laps
… strangers earning minimum wage
to help propagate a lie
all bent on creating entitlement
and grossly exaggerated expectations
on imaginary friends
both Santa and Jesus –
it’s a cold month in Oregon
for the spiritualist
barterer
sociology major
living December
in a nation of shopaholics
on their national day of rejoice –
I walk the streets witnessing mass consumption
of energy recourses
so thousands of twinkling lights
can show the neighborhood
how you love the savior more than everyone else
nativity in front
santa on top
retards sporting
a holiday mullet –
closing the door I am slapped
by the smell of pine
and hypocrisy
as I too
have a tree, decorated
standing in my living room –

Emirate city
A district filled with lies and deceit
Home of fabrics and silk
Blessed with honey and milk
Where a man controls it all; like it's his compound
Where he rules like a god with the power-bound

Emirate city
Where liveth handsome and pretty
But their greed and pride; I pity.
Where kids are raised
To raise mace against their race
As long as there's cash; the guilty’d beat the case
And the innocent will die in prison jail

Emirate city
A big city with the view of a family house
Where ma'am sell their dignity for bread and blouse
Where real man are those who could puff-in ****
Just to get em high to fulfil their mission of greed
Where those who wear hijab are criticised
And the half-naked are tagged as civilised

Emirate city
Where graduates walk around the streets
Looking for handy job to get his belly feed
His certificate may not grant him a policy
Why? Because he is not involve in politics

Emirate city
Enormity district
Fortress of lies and deceit
Where man sees lies as truth
Where being upright is rude
Where Money is man's only desire
Home for only those who pledge allegiance to their sire

Emirate city
Where men of God has turn to ritualist
And the politicians and religious leaders are much of spiritualist
Where black coal burns to black ash
Where horse rides on man's back
Where the head controls man's heart
Where man is the slave and money is his master

Emirate city
Where silence is our default
Those who yearn for revolution are seen as thugs
"Ranti omo eni ti o nse"; parent tell their sons thus
Proverb passed down from ancestors to grandsons
No matter how oppressed we are; we should not talk
No, this will not work
Not anymore
Every sector in the Emirate city is corrupt
And every form of justice’s being disrupt
Now we are pushed to the wall
Our rage for change's erupt
They say we should just pray, work hard and wish
But we're too tired and we can't keep being like this
They say if we go against him; then, we're ungrateful
Religion leaders are much hateful, they don't even feel shameful
He, who takes away all our harvest and give us just a seed,
He, which should serve, but rule over us with greed
A definition of a true pillage
And yet they call him our true image
Maybe their sense is not in its normal state
Maybe, he's got hold of their brain, and now he remote-control their fate
Hmm; I just guffawed
Should we keep mute till this virus **** us all?
Away from our home, should we flee and run
No, we'll stand tall, firm for our children's sake
We'll sleep-walk and dream while awake
We really need to wake
For our future is being put on stake
But we keep-on singing "we are the leaders of tomorrow"
If we keep-on on this path we follow
Our dreams and hope will end up in hollow
Our weakened heart will be pierced by filthy arrow
If we make oppression our host; and we become its parasite
We'll die as civil slave,
And heaven will reject our stay
We'll not be chance to be a guest in paradise
Because paradise is not meant for cowardice

My dearest Anne,
I am living by a lake
with a young man
I met one week after you died.

His beard is red,
his eyes flicker like cat’s eyes,
& the amazing plum of his tongue
sweetens my brain.
He is like nobody
since I love him.
His **** sinks deep
in my heart.



I have owed you a letter
for months.



I wanted to chide
the manner of your death
the way I might have once
revised your poem.
You are like nobody
since I love you,
& you are gone.



Can you believe
your death gave birth to me?
Live or die,
you said insistently.
You chose the second
& the first chose me.
I mourned you
& I found him
in one week.



Is love the sugar-coated poison
that gets us in the end?
We spoke of men
as often as of poems.
We tried to legislate away
the need for love –
that backseat ****
& death caressing you.



Why did you do it
in your mother’s coat?
(I know
but also know
I have to ask.)
Our mothers get us hooked,
then leave us cold,
all full-grown orphans
hungering after love.



You loved a man who sopoe
“like greeting cards.”
“He ***** me well
but I can’t talk to him.”
We shared that awful need
to talk in bed.
Love wasn’t love
if we could only speak
in tongues.



& the intensity of unlove
increased
until the motor, the running motor
could no longer power
the driver,
& you, with miles to go,
would rather sleep.



Between the pills, the suicide pills
& our giggly vodkas in the Algonquin…
Between your round granny glasses
& your eyes blue as glaciers…
Between your stark mother-hunger
& your mother courage,
you knew there was only one poem
we all were writing.



No competition.
“The poem belongs to everyone
& God.”
I jumped out of your car
suicide car
& into his arms.

Your death was mine
I ate it
& returned.



Now I sit by a lake
writing to you.
I love a man
who makes my finger ache.
I type to you
off somewhere in the clouds.
I tap the table
like a spiritualist.



*** is a part of death;
that much I know.
You voice was earth,
your eyes were glacier-blue.
Your slender torso
& long-stemmed American legs
drape across
this huge blue western sky.



I want to tell you “Wait,
don’t do it yet.”
Love is the poison, Anne,
but love eats death.

So you, 're a materialist
Who wants to be a spiritualist
Who thinks she's a linguist
When she's not thinking of
Being kissed
I'm ******
What am I?
Do I even exist?

I am a son of a farmer, not a son of a queen. What will happen if we exchange our destiny? But frankly, I cannot imagine myself being a son of a queen, nor can I imagine you as a farm son. So, I will rely on another way to achieve our transformation. I will go to a spiritualist friend and ask him to perform a soul transplant; by giving my body your soul, and giving your body my soul. I think after that, we'll all understand the true story.
The art and the poem by Anwer Ghani

Oh my Lord, these people.
They point at me and say (oh my God).
They look at me and say (oh my Lord)
I got my own belief, oh my God these people.
Oh my God, oh my Lord, your people;
They make me feel high, who is their Lord.
Let me get my glasses off, who is your Lord?
Oh my God, oh my ancient God these people.

Oh my God, evangelist point fingers at traditionalist
Oh, my Lord, traditionalists point fingers at evangelists.
Oh, my savior, I question myself, did they know you?
Oh my Savior, have you called this evangelist.
Oh my God, do you know this traditionalist?
Oh my God, a double standard in this spiritualist.

-Written By: The Senior 11/03/2022

There is a time to be born
Then you suckle her succulent breast
Get a ride on her back
Like a mother Baboon to her Baby
This is a season of growth
We all passed through it

There is a time to crawl
A time to fall, stand and walk
Just like a new hen
In a new environment
With one leg at a time
She studies her environment
Then she begins to fly
Looks for trouble and says
"I will tell my Mummt for you"

There is a time to be schooled
Not just formally these days
To survive the current economic realities
You need skill based education
This, your sure bet to financial freedom
Afterall, "Who certificate help"

None can survive without "Mama thank you"
Without which you will be history
From the days of John the Baptist
We have been eating "Mama Thank You"
Our sweet Mother
Our comfort in times of war...

She fought many unseen battles
That you and I may live
She tolerated concubines and new wives
Even when father said her wine was stale
She even served them food
So that we will not be poisoned
"If you know you know"
Especially if you survived polygamy like me

What can we do without our mother?
A God in human form
She could have left the union
But what will people say?
"What will happen to her children?"
She weathered the storm
The tempest storms from family
Her love was pure agape
When was the last you told her "I love you?"

She sold fishes that you be educated
She believed in your ability to succeed
You were her greatest investment
Yet, she never stopped serving  you
And all you say is "Mama Thank You"
Do you know that thunder is real?
And she didn't take postinor
When you were conceived...

At Age thirty, you are still home
Struggling with her scarce resources
Competing for space with siblings
Still eating "Mama Thank You"
Of what value is your education?
Has it made you independent
Or a non-entity?

If our parents took loans
To finance our education
With you still eating "Mama Thank You"
After successfully completing NYSC
How can you pay them back?
Would it be okay to mortgage you
Just as a collateral
Afterall you spent the money

Wake up my friend!
This is not a poem
This is a clarion call to do right
Before you buy i-phone 12
Have you honoured your parents?
Before you pay your Girlfriend's house rent
Have you paid your parents'?

No one takes oranges
And takes the seed alongside
In your meagre earnings is a seed
And if you are not earning
After all your education
You are just a lazy youth
You still want to eat "Mama Thank You"
"Mama Thank You Kee You Dia"

This is a clarion call
Before you call your girlfriends
Or your Sugar "Zaddies"
Have a meeting with yourself
Have you been financially good to Mummy?
What about your Superman, your Daddy?
Do you even know their account number?
If you don't, make that call
And place them on monthly stipends

Sometimes in life
To unlock the golden door
That your heaven may open
You don't need fasting and prayers
You don't need prayers from spiritualist
All you need is to act right
Go back to your root
Honour the god that poured blood on you
Especially from your wallet

Little hinges swings great doors
Little drops makes mighty oceans
You mustn't engage in Yahoo plus
Or corporate "Olosho" in whatever guise
You too can play in the big leagues
If only you honour your parents
That it shall be well with you
That they too may say
"Thank You My Pikin"
You have been advised!

Babatunde Raimi
Author/Life Coach/Poet
08178827380/08035063895

If you want to pursue them
well do then
nothing is stopping you
except for you being you
doing what you do
and dithering.

I wonder,
is there laughter in the hereafter
do they sing songs
go for long walks
and
talk to themselves

The spiritualist in me
who’s been absent
for centuries
believes it is so
and then
so it is.

I’m not going to be late when
the coachman comes
that’ll fool him.

But the evening will dawn on me
and the warmth of the light
will see me
and I will be again
the ocean
I once was.

Alfred Hitchcock's best film was Notorious. Stephen King has become a brand name. I doubt that he writes anything other than story outlines for ghost writers to expound upon. V.C. Andrews (Cleo Virginia Andrews, June 6, 1923 – December 19, 1986) is still writing tomes. Her mega-productive years are yet to come. I can't find an affinity with today's Western culture. I am pulled to the East. Much of what I enjoy emanates from the Orient, from music to women; to musical, Mongoloidal women. The last novel I read was The Decay of the Angel by Yukio Mishima (which was his last novel, finished the morning of the afternoon that he was beheaded). Feng Shui leads to astrological considerations that tire me to panic, because I'd have to be mindful of the placement of beds with relation to the flow of piped water. I've planted 2 dozen trees. Their location relative to topography must be considered. A picture of my wife's family fell from the wall & shattered the day she was to depart for Vietnam. She went anyway. Nothing came of it. Nancy planned Ronald Reagan's trips around stellar meanderings. He got shot all the same. Yoko did likewise with John Lennon. He got shot with 2 calibers of bullets: .357 & .38, and his autopsy records remain sealed to the public still yet. I live 35 miles from the spiritualist camp town of Cassadaga, Fla. I visited there once (in 1983). I'll not go back. Bad vibes.