The Poetry Marathon

Our bus zooms past treeline highways as we travel to the annual camp-meeting

I am always looking forward to the camp-meeting

It is in the cool, dry breeze and the happy faces

It is in the strange people who peopled the places

There is no mask, no pretence and no sinister

Every male is a brother; every female a sister

Wish every day is like the days spend in camp, no one bottle emotion of anger

No lethargy among the brethren or lurking danger

Aside unending spiritual exercise, the firefly is a companion

But once you take abode in the cottage, you have no worry

The time of day I cherish most is when the porridge is being served without hurry

The tropical sun may be unfriendly in December, camp meeting is a time to remember

She sends him a text message

but it is not a text message

it is a unique text message

two images, arms wrap-around each other.

He replies her text message

but there is no text in his message

he pushes the button and an image appears

A laughing head, tears rolling down its eyes.

It is a world of wordless conversation

It is another way into another soul

A way to take control.

In the face of petrol-dollar and stolen riches, the president still dies

His hordes of physicians try his death to hide

The citizens are in the dark and no one is in the know

His kitchen cabinet covers up the cause of his death so

The media are left to speculate and lies grow

The international community is not letting go

Because it is a season of the disease

There is no cure yet for the disease

One by one, everybody goes away

Even if you can you cannot stop the day

Security forces are deployed to keep people at bay

Yet, the cause of the president’s and his men’s death is out now

If you have the power you cannot keep everybody down

The international community is wearing a frown

Because it is a season of the disease

There is no cure yet for the disease

The day is filled with joy and laughter

Children are running around the compound with careless abandon

The women of the house roam the garden and stop to smell the flowers

The drizzling rain envelops leaves

The rain increases its intensity and turns into a torrent

It cleans the gutters and clears debris from the carnal

The grasses are wet and drip with water

Car drivers slow to a trot

Soon, the classes are over

Teachers and pupils shout for joy

After the rain emerges sunshine

The sun peeps behind balls of clouds

Chicken soup stews in the kitchen

Its aroma wafting through the air

Aha, chicken soup drives the cold away

It is just another ideal day

I stood on the ground and looked up at the sky

But tree branches covered my eye

Enveloped by the greying branches the sky whispered, “I am high”.

Spread in majesty

the tree branches clasped in unison

Intent on masking the light of the day forever

Yet, shades of grey emerged undeath the cover

Clasped together

the branches held a conference

To conspire and umbrella the sky

Bent on sending the sky into oblivion

Against all odds, the branches ended up accentuating the beauty of the sky

My Beloved Mother,

How are you? You would be wondering why I am writing you a letter. Do not wonder. I am thinking about you and all memories that I hold dearly. All the lessons you taught me still guides my every thought. You left me when I was barely leaving the cradle. There was no one for me to handle. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

How are you? I need to ask you that question because you never ceased to ask me the same question when you were alive. In case you do not know, my father died recently and he was so fond of you. My sisters and brothers are grown and have left the house. I visited our house last year and it is kept the way you would want it. Clean. But mama, you were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

I missed you. My children are missing you. Although you did not wait to meet them, I have shared your memories with them. Particularly, the day you took me to school and the rain drenched my uniform while the fierce wind stole the tiny umbrella from your grip. Forgetting your own welfare, you carried me. I felt loved. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Our family is good. But your friend, our neighbour, has also passed on. She died in her sleep. I am sure the two of you would meet somehow in heaven. Did you just smile your disarming smile, mama? That is one of the things I inherited from you, the ability to smile easily. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Do not complain about my letter. I have not written you a letter before. Let me tell you a secret. I am participating in a Poetry Marathon. One of the assignments is to write a letter to someone who is dead or who we have not seen in a long time. That is why I am writing you this. Because you were there in the beginning. But you did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Mama, I need to stop before I drench the computer keyboard with my tears. I got that from you, too. You cry easily. But you have taught not to cry. You said tears do not wet new dreams. I believe you, mama. I will write again. Soon. Regards to dad, if you see him around.

the town-crier said they said they will give the homeless shelter

they said the homeless should come around and register

they said each homeless will need a number

they said to get the number a homeless must bring his mother

they said whoever does not have a mother should provide his finger

they said otherwise the shelter will go to another

they warned that the shelter is for a limited number

hmm, the homeless scamper to get the number.

the town-crier said they said the machine reader

will not return from the manufacturer

so the homeless wait in their hopelessness

a potbelly prince promises to ease their homelessness

“give me your votes. I will build you a shelter. i will fulfill my pledges unlike the other”.

the next time the prince amble to the constituency in a black armour car

his private window prevents the homeless from seeing through the car

he drives off without a care for the score of homeless

now in the throes of waiting, they are still homeless

the homeless heaves a sigh and welcome another representative, a thief

the homeless allow him into their hearts, handing him the key to the treasury

he gives the homeless loans with usury

yet, he refuses to provide shelter. “I will look into the shelter matter”.

he tells the homeless as he drives away

another bighead comes and he removes the shantytown

in exchange, luxury nests wait for the mighty when they come to town

the hopeless homeless in my home are still waiting for their own

1. Listen
2. Hunting
3. Dodge
4. Duck
5. Wood

The following is the recipe for finding an ideal lover.

Follow the rules. Keep it close and you may just about find your ideal lover.

It is a difficult task to find an ideal lover.

However, if you insist on finding an ideal lover, you will not find her.

To find her, you would need to mix a large dose of listening to win her.

Let her simmer for a few minutes and pour your love all over her.

Go on a hunting spree to spice up your romance. Otherwise; it will grow cold and lose her taste.

Add a bowlful of dodge and duck. Your vow of silence should be enough to whet her appetite.

Add a spoonful of oil of perseverance and let it run all the way down to cover the soup.

Always bring home some wood to heat the oven and then sit at the table to enjoy your romance.

it is not every day

one gets to meet a woman like you

perhaps, it is the way

heavens have blessed me to have known you

perhaps, it is your charm and the things you did not do

perhaps, your warmth is in what you did do

hard to lay my hands on why you have to leave your grace

and hobnob with the dregs in their space

rubbing shoulders with them

you gifted them the Sunshine

your gap-toothed smiles light up their day

your voice breaks forth like the sunray

like a stream, you flow freely and emptied your content

they bath in you to their content

they dine

they wine

they smile

like a shy sun, you have sneaked away

and took your Sunshine away.

It was so hard for me to sleep.

If the Creator had not created in us the ability to fall asleep, the world would have been filled with sleep junkies: Men and women and girls and boys who are permanently high on the severe dose of sleep deprivation and yet they cannot sleep.

That is torture. I guess that must have been what insomniacs experience every night. The inability to conjure sleep can be due to several reasons, I learnt. But none of them is in my system.

Neither do I drink wine nor gin; mineral water nor soda water; Umqombothi https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umqombothi nor Sapele water.https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Sapele_water

Mercy found me. I do not need any substance to lull me into a deep sleep. Are there other underlying reasons why I could not find my sleep? https://www.helpguide.org/articles/sleep/sleep-disorders-and-problems.htm

Maybe. Anyway, I am not in the mood to explore those reasons. But, pray, why couldn’t I find my beauty sleep? I did not understand why.

I tossed.

I turned.

I tossed.

I turned.

I sought that elusive perfect spot on my sheets. My bed creaked under my little weight because of the anger with which I tossed and turned. My spouse was quite oblivious to my plight.

She was fast asleep.

Envy enveloped me. I wished it was the runaway sleep that had found me.

My mind was racing. My brain was in a marathon. It was really hard to find the elusive sleep. Gosh! What have I done? Have I sinned? What was happening?

Oh, God, please I need my beauty sleep.

I need my beauty sleep.

I need my beauty sleep.

My mind screamed persistently.

I lay me down and sleep and awake because the Lord sustained me.

I whispered a verse in Psalm 3. My mind was focused on the verse and I must have repeated it a million times before I slipped away.

My spouse stroked my cheek gently until I was awake. She reminded me about the Poetry Marathon.

Oh, I smiled easily as the flood gate opened.

I have been consumed by the thoughts, the preparation and the expectations of participating in my first Poetry Marathon.

Hmmm, so this is why it was so so hard for me to sleep?