Dream’s friend
Illusion’s sister
Originally your shadow
Yet always in front of you
As formless as light
As restless as wind
Between you and her
She keeps her distance always
Like flying birds outside the window
Like floating clouds in the sky
O BLUSH not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
Then maidenheads are going.
There’s a blush for want, and a blush for shan’t,
And a blush for having done it;
There’s a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
And a blush for just begun it.
O sigh not
John Delaney of the Rifles has been shot.
A man we never knew,
Does it cloud the day for you
That he lies among the dead
Moving, hearing, heeding not?
No history will hold his humble name.
No sculptured stone will tell
The traveller where he fell;
That he lies among the dead
Is the measure of his fame.
When
Once made a fairy rooster from
Mashed potatoes
Whose eyes I forget
But green onions were his tail
And his two legs were carrot sticks
A tomato slice his crown.
Who came home on vacation
When the sun was hot
and cooked
and cleaned
And minded least of all
The children’s questions
Tell them about an unflappable warrior
A warrior both at home and on the battlefield
The bird’s offspring on Ìrókò tree
Akalamagbo’s child with magical sight
One who walks ahead and notices people approaching from behind
Oníkòyí, who used a thread to bind the rock
With the witchery lines of Ayajo
Oníkòyí, who is undeterred by gunshots
Death’s son, disease’s
I came back home and retired to my couch
Walking on a deviant road
Which seemed exciting but weary like a long voyage
I saw one imp spiteful like an inferno
That suddenly changed into three dragons
Their eyes were frightened and anxious like lion claws
I appeased the land with three white doves
And struck the ground with my staff<br
Gentle breeze is the father of rain,
Soft wind is the father of cloudburst,
Rain will not drench me today;
Rain will pack its belongings and go away.
The antelope is humming,
The buffalo is grumbling,
The pig grunts in its belly.
Words have angered the red monkey,
But today he was given the right words
And his anger will
Hanging day.
A hollow earth
Echoes footsteps of the grave procession.
Walls in sunspots
Lean to shadow of the shortening morn.
Behind an eyepatch lushly blue.
The wall of prayer has taken refuge
In a piece of blindness, closed.
Its grey recessive deeps.
Fretful limbs.
And glances that would sometimes
Conjure up a drawbridge
Raised but never lowered between
Their gathering and
In after-time, a sage of mickle lore
Yclep’d Typographus, the Giant took,
And did refit his limbs as heretofore,
And made him read in many a learned book,
And into many a lively legend look;
Thereby in goodly themes so training him,
That all his brutishness he quite forsook,
When, meeting Artegall and Talus grim,
Aromatic or stinky folds,
Customary is the game.
On velvety linen or dirty sheets,
Love is all the same.
Freeze the event in your mind,
In a tale or poetry,
Canvas it or sculpt it,
Choreograph, song or melody.
Down earth, love is need,
A primal instinct ready to claw,
The inevitable event of seclusion,
When hands become the paw.
Ah! there exam days
when people near me,
they carefully hear me,
please me in many ways
Ah! there exam days.
My loneliness filled with girls and boys
my introvercy gone for joys,
Fear pedal my feet to be absconder
Slow down by the angry teeth of ocean grit
Crab, lobster, and clam are no more here
They said to be hidden by the goddess
And replaced them with a scourge of complexity
Is this Lagos Bar Beach that I know?
It is me the heir to your throne
Her ears seem far away
CHILD – River bird, river bird,
Sitting all day long
On hook over grass,
River bird, river bird,
Sing to me a song
Of all the pass
And say,
Will mother come back today?
I came to know I am so bad,
This is the reason why I am sad.
I hurt them and I always fight,
That’s why my days are not so bright.
I can’t feel what others feel
And want them under my heels.
I am selfish, I am harsh
Break intentions and their hearts.
I misunderstand, I misbehave,
I speak
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.
Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
I am always going from door to door,
whether in rain or heat,
and sometimes I will lay my right ear in
the palm of my right hand.
And as I speak my voice seems strange as if
it were alien to me,
for I’m not certain whose voice is crying:
mine or someone else’s.
I cry for a pittance to
The Earth, a leper foul with scars and sores,
Lay naked in most hideous plight,
When Boreas flung down his ermined robe
And hid from men the sick’ning sight!
Lo where December’s snows the deepest lay,
The wheat of June the brightest gleams;
E’en so deep sorrows when with patience borne,
Oft-times nurse joys beyond our dreams!
Nature is a world of fascinated things,
which is never boring.
Gives freshness to the humans and birds,
Hence, adds life to the whole world.
It gives beauty to the land,
In whatever direction you stand.
Let no moment be spent without nature
Which is a dream place for creatures.
A poor man doesn’t know
how to eat with a rich man.
When he eats fish
he begins with the head.
If you invite a poor man
he comes without manners:
He comes licking his lips
upsetting the platter in eagerness.
The poor man has no reserves.
If invited, he comes in a hurry
with the blood of his lice
dirtying his
Our sails are spread before the wind,
And onward, onward swift we fly;
We’ve left our country far behind,
No prospect now invites the eye,
Save the blue sea, and cloudless sky.
Oh! when I wav’d my last good-bye,
To parents, friends, and Mary dear,
It was not fear that dimm’d mine eye,
This heart ne’er felt a thrill of fear
