Poetry

The path to Harvest

Joy is the fruit blossomed in the heart of the farmer

His smiles are meshed with the days toil and sweat

Patches of brown earth possess a part of his tired face

On his shoulders he carries a huge basket with some tools
And now it is harvest time…  

Now the fields are ripe, the mangoes are heavy with fruits

Birds sing from the tree tops, monkeys dance to their muse

Below the evergreen forest, the farmers find their way

Pathing thru thick mist and grass, old animal dung and dew
The morning was cool, once the path reached the stream side

The farmers stooped to have a handful taste of the waters

The taste is clayey, the scent like a patch of dust with water

The path lead the farmers into the deeper forests now 

The shrubs become scanty, the trees more numerous

And all about dew sail off tree leaves, bouncing into balls

Thriving bird colonies, Natures own secret fine hive

The bamboo forest stood close by, taunting the farmers as they went

Waterfalls let water drops fall and bounce off rocks

Once they arrived the plantation, the work began

And with it, went with countryside music-

And when they sang, they sang of places, far far away

Where the wheat fields are yellow, the cow milk tasteful

They whistle songs and hum when they were tired of songs

At last, the harvest became a pile waiting to go home

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Poetry

My muse: Rejoice

My heart rejoices, but why I can not say! 

The sun has risen, the land is golden

The firmaments are bright, blue and grey

Dews melt, trees dance, flowers open
I rejoice for the lights which has come

For the love which I see all about me

For the little fine hamlet I call home

I rejoice for her numerous diversity
So today I dance to the rhythms in my head

In my absent privacy, I admire my hip hop

Desiring nothing but this feeling of good

Deep down me I change my dance steps
So today, I amuse myself with myself

I laugh at my stupidity and my bravery

I teach my wild spirit how to be herself

And teach my hands to tend to poetry

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

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. 

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Tree Leaves Falling

Now the tree leaves fall before us, dancing with the wind they somersault
Time flies, memories fade, goodness lives and the day goes spent

The tree leaves fall beside us, with the wind she danced, possessed, carefree
While her brethren watched her swirl about, with the flirty wind on the tree

The tree house the grey squirrels whose work is to chew the tree fruits
Up the branches so high, they made their citadel, their home, a fort

The tarred pathway is full of tree leaves, close movement throw them dancing up and down
And when there is peace, they lay quiet and once more there is tranquility on the lawn

The flirty wind blows about, the fallen leaves she mildly hunt
Meanwhile the sun shine brightly while the tree leaves fall quietly

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Musing: Candle Light

Night falls
Sleep calls

My candle light dance, hovering madly before me
Careless of its nakedness, careless of her waywardness
Yet there was very little wind here, rather a swift breeze
Coming now and then, but the candle light danced

The corner of the room stood, darkened behind me
My silhouette forming a union with the dark
And the night one of quiet loneliness, resourcefulness

Now the pen dance with the wind and candle light
The papers are bleeding with ink, fine and some obscure
Underwhelmed with the burden of a switching breeze
And the candle light which knew little but dance…

And so on… So the night is quiet but the pen aint!

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Musing: Sweet and Sour

Bent, folded I returned to my own self
Baking in the euphoria of failed love itself
Shivers accompany thoughts, rented worries
Revived just to welcome the sad, old self
Moments are lost when smiles were love,
When winks, faces said how much I cared

Transform me back, if I have no soul at all
Let the toils of failed love refresh my hopes
Let me live to love without remorse

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February

Sold to the warm white clouds and suns heat,
To the golden hue, shared across the firmaments
Across the fields where grows the yellow wheat
Came a new born, a new beginning, a new month
To the East and West, to the North and the South
It came, striving, growing, standing, blest

February retells stories of Apple trees stuck in Pine forests
And the tales of the strange night when it is all cold and dark
While the golden sun shine upon all, the greens find it exciting
The stray sugar ants and millipedes find it irritating

But here bespeak to a lovely month of flowers
and purple and of lands which live under the sun

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Lullaby: Moonshine

”Where there is shine, there is a way…”

Take a walk through the pathways that lead to the village center
Pass the heavily treed garden of sour grapes and locust bean
And the ever singing Pines that border the town from the forest

Upon the skies, like a print of gold on the darkened grey clouds
A circle of light descend on the carpets of grasses and leaves
Creating a pathway of light to and fro, there and then, here and now
The fruits which hung on the forest shone like Christmas trees
Airs of the wild Nature, the rarest play on the moonshines command
Drawing faun, flora and man to her warmest embrace of light

…And for the faint and weak a very good night sleep to savor

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I am Nigeria

You have smiles on your face
Reminds me of my beloved siblings
No need to see you thru your race
You are you; one, unique and winning

Igbo kwenu! Kedu, olee, how do you do?
Come in, have a sit, taste this dish
You come in peace, we surely know
To you, all good things we gladly wish

Have you seen or heard the names we bear?
We are the people of God; Oluwa, Tamuno and Chukwu
We are unique; our food and the dress we wear
We say ‘Oshe’ which mean the same as my ‘kwongo’

Kei! Listen my cattle moos behind the huts
Can you hear? How tasteful the milk, fetched this morning?
When the nights come, gather for some cream sauce
Don’t forget to visit; come once, come all, salaam alekun

I can be Berom or Mumuye, I can be the the Efik or Igala
Don’t seek my race first before knowing me
I am Ijaw or Tiv, I am Edo, I am Ibibio and the Idoma
So don’t judge me because I was born a tribe to be