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

The Rainbow, 1st

1

The rainbow is my favorite color 

Her beauty radiates upon the cloud

Dressed like a man wearing a talisman

Savoring the scent of the sweet airs, 

A mirage because the rain won’t fall after all

2
There sits the rainbow across the firmaments

Watching quietly, observing the rules of the airs

Belittling the heights of the hills and mountains

Shading the greenery with a new look of aura

One to be seen in a long while, a perfect acquaintance 

3
The green is spirogyric, fading with the suns heat

The blues are epileptic, exploding without remorse

The yellows invisible, trying to hide from the group

And the red, painful, like a heartbroken soul 

The colors mingle with one another, raising hopes

The green fields of wheat turn gold with time

The dirt path glowing each time the rain goes

Image from https://media.mnn.com/assets/images/2016/07/Rainbow-Stretching-Hilly-Forest-Mountains.jpg.638x0_q80_crop-smart.jpg

Poetry

Love Poems: My musing 

See my musing for you, my Gold
My heart goes to you my lovely one

I whisper your name to the clouds

From where the nights are born
Your love is like the sweet grape wine

It tastes as much as the kiss you gave

For on your mild acquaintance, we dine

Our tryst- out in the gardens our food- our love
When you look at me, the caves sink

Your smiles are revolvers, they murder my silence

And when it all turns from grin to wink

I can accept how much, we both are linked

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

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

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.