The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.
The revolving door swept the grimy floor
......
This sad sequence came as aftermath
To the day I gave my goldfish a bath.
She was so happy. There was nary a scowl,
as she got her rubdown with the towel.
Then, into the water she slid -- in the nude,
to swim. A vision of piscatorial pulchritude.
I do get sentimental about a fish so ornamental..
And I knew: for her to flourish, I must properly nourish.
......
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.
All around you
......
In humble silence he sat in the hall
Like one not known by anyone at all
We all walked past him in the hall
Until he was introduced to us in the hall
Then we knew he was the master of us all
Humility is truly a divine call
Answered only by those ready to stand tall
Like mount Zion that can never fall
Like the Iroko in Sunshine and Rainfall
......
At Penny Lane,
among Strawberry Fields,
which swished in global excitement
and superbly choreographed words,
came a voice deep and long —
a voice we will hear time after time —
the voice of John
a protest of Lennon.
In humble silence he sat in the hall
Like one not known by anyone at all
We all walked past him in the hall
Until he was introduced to us in the hall
Then we knew he was the master of us all
Humility is truly a divine call
Answered only by those ready to stand tall
Like mount Zion that can never fall
Like the Iroko in Sunshine and Rainfall
......
You never claimed to know it all
For what you believed in, you stood tall
Taking no sides with foes nor friends
But with equal rights and justice
You did your due diligence to all
Never minding what could you befall
Many battles you had to fight
Many foes you did put to flight
In an ocean of accusations
......
I hail your conquest of winter in
The battle of the seasons
I welcome your shaft of light —
That borderless paramount halo above us
Befriending dark and hidden places
With the power of your enlightening soul,
The recovery of stolen time
And the birth of new life.
From a hilly point of view,
my eyes descend with eagle speed and greed
upon the grounds of Enugu,*
(deep, crested and woven, waving the greenish spots
of bloodline feathers)
beholding the power and the glory of a
city guarding an underground library of
heart-warming resources.
*A city in the south-eastern part of Nigeria.
......
These vast plains of steadfast savannahs
Haunt me joyfully with the silent hissing tune
Of the setting sun, smiling at the
Sashaying clouds of low skies, and ogling select woods.
The earth is brown here (snuff-brown, I insist),
And with the courage of humble humus soil
Into whose fecund wombs the fattest disciples of yam —
Each tuber a testimony to nutritious creation —are nursed.
Need I guess correctly the mating time of sorghum — in the rains
Or in droughts?
......