Poetry

Musing: Countryside 

                         

                              

                                 1

I am hidden in the thickly wooded forest land

Tucked away in a pocket of land in the countryside



Green paradise, constantly drenched in the Rain; 

The august visitor, which comes when she wills;

And desires to make the clouds dark, the day solemn

To keep the warmth from all the hamlet, farm and hill


                                    2

The sun is hidden above the tree leaves and branches 

Underneath the woods; life goes on, life continues


The airs are sweet, amazing, a healing surge

Fires are made to keep the treacherous cold away

In clear contrast of it all, heat or cold, not to dodge

Admonitions, words, messages are never to go astray



For the countryside can be a darling or a demon 

A companion or a disaster, with or without

Tucked away in a pocket of land in the countryside

Just underneath the woods; life goes on, life continues 

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Poetry

Morning Poem

Lavenders,  gardens, the fair butterfly

Gold, sun rising across the blue sky

Quietness, serene green forest, birds calling

Yawn, a kick and high hopes waking
The warmth of the sun, glittering across the fields

Buzzing bees, smooth sailing airs, some wildlife

Smell of burning food, hawks hunting for food in the hamlet

Warm airs rush forward, drying the grasses that were wet
The beauty of the morning rise from the inside

When the lights wake, when it comes to abide 

In the early mornings; our blessed Natures gift to everyone

Brings succour to our hearts, through the beauty we have seen

Poetry

Rainmaker Tales, the first

When the green neighborhood dance to the call of the wild one

Dark are the skies, darker even are the clouds which stalked the rain

The wind came swift and slow; rushing at times as petals of flowers danced

To the music of the coming rain; to lullabies that made heads bounce 

And to the Forest people, to the clans that inhabits the wooded lands

A rainmaker was awake, perhaps trying his skills or yet just being mad! 

***
The lightning draw bizarre images across the dark firmaments 

Causing the trees to look like knights with forks on the foot path

Silhouettes of mud huts stood motionless in the fiery wind surge

Exposed to danger: the rainmakers ire, the villagers try to dodge
The day turns to night, helter shelter is the song of the hamlet

When the rainmakers strength leaves him or his tools* spent,

He let’s the strong breezes to rest on the call of the wild one*

But they wait on the mans call, him whom had mastered the rain

Note: In Africa, people are capable of making rains fall. Most of these people are the native traditional doctors, those reverred to have access to the wisdom of ancient and dead beings and spirits.  
Tools*:  the rainmaking tools of the rainmaker which comprises of leaves, herbs, and other condiments. 

Wild one*: it is obvious that the rainmaker and the wild one is one and the same person. Or yet can be the source of the rainmakers powers. 

Poetry

Rain on the Window 

I love the sound of the rain when it hits the windows
When the multitude descend down from the Heavens

Splattering, hitting the Earths crust, smashing the clay 

Throwing up sweet scents, one unaccustomed to man

The sounds create a regular rhythm which sings a lullaby

Soothing are the rains words, mild are her amazing airs

The waters fall on the glasses, merging into balls which sigh, 

Silently, they rush off the glass in ecstatic and joyful haste

Poetry

Your eyes

I call you Natures finest, nothing stands touching but your pretty eyes

It melts the body and the soul,  it remind me of the wild and of untamed love

It is like the Summer sun whose glow shine upon yellow wheat fields

It is the touch of the Suns gold which sprays her tentacles upon a waking town

Your eyes fascinate all, staring in them makes the earth shudder beneath me

In the mornings, it is like rays, dreamily casted for inner warmth,  unexplainable 

In the evenings, it calls on to the wild, the cats wonder if you are one of them

Your eyes inspire the ink in me, it drives my pen crazy and if this pen would live

It shall call you mother Natures gift to Earth, pure inspiration from God Himself

Poetry

Muse: Morning in the rain season


Here has become something else without much of the sun
The wind takes her toil, she dances about with no care

When the South forge towards the cold rainy season

The queer climate of the evening is seen in the morning

The mildness, softness of the wind makes all, everything cold,

Even when the sun rise, her warmth is little, insignificant

Overshadowed by the icy cold, a very strong reminder

Of strange tales of wild cold places; Utopia, some vampire land

Yet this early morning was just being born,

And a lot have not been seen, for the day is young

Poetry

Sunrise in Enugu


Alas the sun rise above the clouds
Without the mild weather all seem hot

Above the hills, greened with vegetation

And roof tops, which brown is tanned
The clouds blue upon the long firmament

Draw very friendly and smiling apparitions

One that will definitely see the sun set

Birds fly, trees swoosh, the airs sing calmly
And in a poets mind, a story is being told…

 

Note: Enugu is the capital of present day Enugu state in Nigeria’s East. The city is characterized by muddy terrain, hills, green vegetation and welcoming traditions.

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry

A muse: God’s Love

Songs of the night, sweet lullabies for the days toil

Messages from Heaven, refined touch of God’s goodness

Whistling from the neighboring pines and wide eyed owls

All call out to the quiet night, strange, quietly hopeful
Dreams are cut out on plates of wet marble

Left to dry out in the open sun, like some fairytale

Hopes of happy ever after, thoughts of great deeds

One bonded from Nature and love of God

Poetry

Musing: The howling wind

I hear the wind howl through the gaps,

Through the minute holes which stayed in the walls

Pushing, hissing it went, pushing the books on my laps

Turning the pages without my consent, winning it all
The wind disturb the happy quiet night

Making the room look like a party hall

While I tried gathering my loose book pages

The curtain and the candle dance away, wildly
Stars won’t fall from the skies

Even though the wind sound heavy

Watch it, observe well with your eyes

For such nights seldom come rarely

Poetry

Tudun Amba, Lafia

1

Sprawled across a fertile land,

On a hill overlooking a quiet river

Where the rains come once in a while

And when it does, it is a fine luxury

Trees stand, here and there

Occurring once upon a place

Grasses are seldom seen, the sand most often

The palmwine* taste absolutely sweet

But in the mug we see dead drunk bees

2

The skies are blue; original, authentic

The river, flooded with the big rains

Quiet are the calm nights, cold mostly

But the early morning belongs to the sun

The people like everyone else, smileful 

3

In the mornings, the children play on the sand

When there was no chores, or when all was boring

The noon; lazy, the sun bake away, tanning everyone

In the heat, everyone seek out a shed, a citadel

The evenings are mild, sometimes unnecessarily hot

Then scorpions will find their way out for some air

In the nights the dogs bark to disturb the peace

Making all wonder what they might have seen

And when these all merge, they produce a small village

One placed somewhere, where the moon shine bright

And the sun a steady member of the community!

Note: Tudun Amba is a suburb of the capital city of Lafia, Nasarawa state. I am currently residing in this ancient city of Northern Nigeria. The North of Nigeria is somewhat hotter than the South.

Palmwine: a tasty white African wine tapped from the Raffia palm and other special palm trees, consumed as a beverage or as alcohol when fermented.