TRANSCENDENT VALOUR! godlike Pow'r!
Lord of the dauntless breast, and stedfast mien!
Who, rob'd in majesty sublime,
Sat in thy eagle-wafted car,
And led the hardy sons of war,
With head erect, and eye serene,
Amidst the arrowy show'r;
When unsubdued, from clime to clime,
YOUNG AMMON taught exulting Fame
O'er earth's vast space to sound the glories of thy name.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
I eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
I eat it alone.
I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
Its consistency is such that is better for your mental health
if somebody eats it with you.
That is why I often think up an imaginary companion to have
Possibly it is even worse to eat oatmeal with an imaginary
You are deceiv'd; I sooner may, dull fair,
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's chair,
Or on the glow-worm's uselesse light
Bestow the watching flames of night,
Or give the rose's breath
To executed death,
Ere the bright hiew
Of verse to you;
It is just Heaven on beauty stamps a fame,
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wound'rous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease.
An ode to poetry
An ode to the poet
A celebration to the tree
A dedication to the leaf which fell from it
Shame the thief
from the Maelstrom beyond
Real, once named into Existence
exalted by the Universe,
echoing an extraordinary origin —
Port Harcourt, my Port Harcourt,
A baronial city, bedraggled and obstreperous;
A city with the good, the bad and the ugly,
Deprived of all in tandem with beauty.
Port Harcourt, my renowned Garden City,
Parlous, galling and , of course, shambolic;
A city where the gardens are but mere weeds;
One where looters and junkies own the streets.
Six years a waste,
I'm sure you can relate.
I needed us to be more,
But you turned out to be a whore.
Letting the world know about us-my biggest bummer;
I so wish we'd had, from the outset, the deserved sunder.
Woe is me, for I have made a boner
That swine has indeed defiled this stunner.
Your pulchritude is like a magic spell,
Binding all that breathe like an African 'Juju'.
Your name, to many, is sturdy and mystical,
Just like the unfathomable Abracadabra.
Your comeliness and incomparability get me entombed in flabbergast,
Your eyes are like charms, hypnotizing me ad infinitum;
You're the manacle that fetters me with hyper-ecstacy; the world's jewel of inestimable value.
Oh, how exhilarated I am to be one of yours!