The Word

Spoken from heavenly heights
descending to these earthly realms
the word dwells among us,
ever transcending yet sure,
ever potent,
directing our course
to the end of time.
 Selah!

How the youth got angry

First they snatched jobs from our parents hands,

sending hunger pangs running down our stomachs

Next they jumbled up school systems, switching syllabi on and off like their bedroom lights

The fields were left desolate, as poisoned water, condensed from their greed, descended from the skies

When they desecrated the holy temple of the most high,

all hell broke loose.

There Goes My Teacher

I

There goes my teacher,

The one who brought us up by hand,

His steps are as sure as Afadjato

And his movements as graceful as an eagle’s.

There he goes with his wonderful books

Smiling brightly and ready to serve.

II

There goes my teacher,

The mastermind,

His body beams radiant energy

And his mind floods with amazing knowledge.

There he goes, his chalk ever ready,

To the classroom

Where eager students await his impacting lessons.

III

There goes my teacher,

His ways much like the resolute farmer

Who patiently tends fertile and non-fertile soil alike.

He strives to enrich them with his wit and craft,

And plants the seeds that’ll surely bloom.

IV

There goes my teacher,

The skillful builder and master smith

Whose hardwork restores the nation’s hopes.

There he goes laying bricks of discipline

Bonded together with the mortar of correction.

His sweat truly forges us

Into men and women of integrity.

V

There goes my teacher,

The humble one, the suffering one

Whose back is as solid as a mountain

Never aching for a minute.

There he goes lowering himself like steps

In great sacrifice, while others climb to glory.

VI

There goes my teacher

The most disdained of all workers.

Yea, foolish youth call him “common chalk holder”

Yet his chalk builds their future,

Each stroke lays one more brick.

VII

There goes my teacher

Though great yet a beggar

He begs not for favour or for waiver

only for some of life’s little comforts:

a roof over the family’s head

good food to keep body and soul in one piece

good education for the children’s tomorrow

four wheels to get around with ease

smashing bright kente for Sunday service

a trip or two to cheer the family

and enough to put away against retirement.

My teacher demands not paradise, not even heaven

Just enough comfort to live here on earth

VIII

There goes my teacher,

My good old teacher

His graceful steps now eroded

by years of overwork and depressing pittance

Injustice now stares him blankly in the face

As the grave speedily beckons

There he goes full of the misery

That scares the young from ever holding chalk

Empty classrooms will soon foretell

The first signs of national gloom and doom

The shooter and the killer

A photographer

is a shooter but not a killer.

The real killer lurks subtly under his gaze, his very view,
not hiding in obscure hidden places,
but readily perceptible through his lens.
Her power kill is latently dulled in the moment.

Then she rallies to action!
Unleashing graceful body movements and radiating smiles
and the spark in the eyes is a crucial weapon.

Yet there is no death
only furious rising of emotions, and passions if you like.

The shooter in self defence assumes a posture of alertness
quickly drawing his weapon, and pressing the trigger

which results in the capture, albeit virtual, of the killer.
The image remains to tell the story...

Christmas Haiku

Dry winds bring to me,
sweet tasty akara scents,
and merry Christmas.

Last Call

Call me blue and see me through
Make me lie and take me up high
Peel me naked and fined me scared
A star I am just for a single stare
Hope I have but for a divine slope
Far I will go to rub all my tar
Near I will come to wipe your sweet tear
Lame I am within your love to tame
Desert your dream and follow me to the dessert
Wide awake my spirit stays upon the near Lake
A dove I send to you only to deliver my Love