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

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Muse: Midnights

Midnights are caricatures of dreams
Like the quick mist upon the morning
Licking the forest tree lines and city skylines
Sometimes it stands like a smoke phantom with a dagger
And mouth wide agape as like a dying strangled cockerel

Sometimes they come airy, with mild words, softer
Maybe with some rain, which makes all even milder
The lullabies play on the roof top, the rain drums

It celebrate the nights quietness, the rain and her wind
And mostly, to the fatigued and snoring worker,
Who in the rains benevolence, a solace find

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Four Musings: My Music, The Train, August and WordPress

1. My Music
The sweet tingling of the guitar strings
On my soft palms reminds me of a song
Which plays quietly in my heart
Without drums and strings they play
The songs call out to love
To memories which I adore
I will let this music play through the valleys
And the peak of highest mountains
Through the fields where yellow corn grow
And through the empty hallway
Believing you hear me someday

2. The Train
Nothing excites a countryside boy better
Than a steady long stream of the iron snake!
When it comes with its powerful grace,
The roadways shake and tremble greatly
With the tongues of various green grasses scrubbing
The sides of the iron snake, without drawing his attention
The goats bleat, the kids yell, men came to see
Though unperturbed with the movements about
The iron snake hoots out loud and clear warnings
Minding his business, he went on jogging by

3. August
Some holidays, some month!
Some dancing and some fun
The days are mild, so are the nights
The food warm and the fruits ripe
When it rains, the wet clay rejoice
And women gather to pick the ‘udala’*
Sweet fruit atimes but sour other times
The sun shine is beautiful,
It creates a bright atmosphere
One unrivaled just for August

4. WordPress
My days are joyful and hopeful
Full of sweet dreams and journeys
I discovered a pathway down the jungle
And threaded carefully thru the thorn
Wandering in the great unknown of the pen,
Wondering what might become of my pain
But nothing forth coming without a try
Now I answer why not, when they ask why?
And this dream won’t be complete without you
Yes I can fly high, I can soar higher with you

Commentary.
Udala fruit is a tropical fruit and well eaten in the southern parts of West Africa. The name udala perhaps is a native Igbo name. Thank you WordPress for this wonderful opportunity!

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Musing: Song of a Farmer

I just picked a fruit
Beautiful. Reminds me of you
Grey eyes and elegant

There are many fruits
But this one is purely exotic
A fine and pretty sight

You are an amazing fruit
Like the yellow Sunflower
You, my boring days light

You have become my fruit
The sunshine after my dark
My friend; humble and sweet