WHERE THERE IS SMOKE



Most times we feel things,
and sense them well ahead.
Many times see these things
but don’t avoid them instead.

The signs will be there for all,
like we stumble before we fall.
Doubt stammered before it spoke,
like there’s fire where there’s smoke.

TIME OF DAY



Every day passes into another,
in the same likeness and order.
Morning blends into bright days,
evening dims out in similar ways.

Renewed days busting bubbles,
moving airy shades in mingles.
No difference in multiple colors,
only mystery behind their doors.

LOOMING



Time crawls to us, not away;
and it catches up in our way.
We’re never its chasing park;
like a Wolf it finds our track.

That time waits for none of us,
is more true than we choose.
For it does edges towards us
and always ever looming close.

FAITH MUST BE CHILDISH



Grown ups’ dream in sleep
likens children’s living faith.
Man’s thought is ever deep
like the child’s love is neat.

Trust has a short life time
that outlives only childhood.
Every man lives within crime
and children learn its mood.

STREETS ARE CRAZY

Honking is mating season here,
drivers make frog song feel fair.
Hurried races on the sidewalks;
stampedes amidst its tall stalks.

World’s going in one big hurry;
perceptive and focus all blurry.
All life reduced to sprints daily,
as peopled streets are all crazy.

Inspired by @faucon315

WHAT’S THERE IN LIFE



After all what is there in life;
only sleep, wake, sleep again?
What’s there in the living hype,
but bits of joy in a pond of pain.

What’s it to keep and defend,
just come and go as we came?
What’s to have when it all end,
when dust and ash will remain?

DEATH MUST BE BEAUTIFUL



Death must be so beautiful,
it’s the dying that’s frightful.

To lie in the soft brown earth
like a twig that hasn’t a faith.
Nothing more to say or prove
and the grasses waving above.

One’s head listens to silence,
in unending endless patience.
No yesterdays, nor tomorrow.
Gone is all life and it’s sorrow.

Forgotten life, forgiven time.
To be at peace, in darken fine.

EVERYTHING IN TIME

How can someone so smart,
turn out quite so stupid too?
How come someone so loved
could turn out quite so cruel?

There are ever circumstances;
and ever always consequences.
As there’s timing in everything,
are also reasons for everything.

There is everything for its time,
like everything in its own time.

HOME IS HERE



Home is where I am;
it isn’t anywhere else.
Home says who I am
and my current place.

Home always has me;
all of me, as I present.
Home ever keeps me;
in all my most recent.

Home has become me,
and keeps mine safest.
My home’s here to see;
most real in its truest

BREATH OF LOVE

If you’re in love now;
at this very moment,
or you’ve ever loved
but it’s just not current

Then you’re lucky my friend
because not everyone loves.
Most think so and pretend.
Like breath everyone knows,
love comes and it goes
But remains as you choose.

THERE COMES A TIME

There comes a time in one’s life
when everything feels repeated

Knowledge is old and ages ripe,
desire spent and drive defeated

When wait feels like a long stay
as all reasons appear conceited

Then comes the moment in life
we’ve had enough, are dispirited

RACIAL RACE



What colors are people really?
It’s been a race thing, isn’t it?
Always been a contest surely;
ran all through time, ain’t it?

The sun rises to make a day,
moon smiles white at night.
Color of life shades our way,
every life is as dark or bright.

BEHIND SUCCESSFUL MEN



Admiring success from afar
is a very popular past time
which inspires him or her
who strives over time.

Be advised that success is;
not about luck or the man.
It’s simply behind him is
a stick and a woman.

KNOWLEDGEABLE IGNORANCE

It’s common in law as said,
that ignorance is no excuse.
For lots, knowledge has paid;
for much more it will confuse.

For what we claim as ours
is not as we acknowledge.
As ignorance brings chaos;
surely as much knowledge.

END OF THE WORLD



Everything that has a beginning
most surely will have some end.
It is logical and simple thinking;
one with proven enduring trend.

The much that’s made and had
will at some point all be waste.
Timeless happiness will be sad
as every world ends in its haste.

CULTURAL HABITS

When last did you’ve a habit?
It just happened on its own
or you toiled and worked at it?

Not the filthy things you do
like smoking or biting nails.
But those tiny trivials we do

Like Indian nod; only they do,
the Negroid’s sense of Rythym
And the Caucasian’s damn ego.

PRICED UP



There’s no real loyalty anymore,
everybody wants more for sure.
Family will enslave until you die
and colleagues work a same lie.

All friends are all only as needy;
there’s nothing new about that.
Love is a bargain and so moody,
everything is priced, it is a fact.

TODAY VS TOMORROW



Once a race was in place
for today and tomorrow.
Today says a step to pace,
tomorrow rather they row.

Yesterday the only umpire,
who decided they just wait.
Thus a race we never hear,
tomorrow is today now here;
yesterday is always so unfair.

LADY BUGS



Cladded in possible beauty,
cared or cherished no less.
Tendered with flowery duty;
still a Lady bugs regardless.

STONED MAN



If stones could speak
and use words like us,
show us what we seek
reveal what was a loss

Will we believe them,
listen to their wisdom?
Or maybe just like them
we are stoned at home.

RACING LIFE



Men are the price;
Women their prize.

Time the receiver;
Life, ultimate giver.

Living is a long race
Setting its own pace.

You start with a prize
before paying the price.




Inspired by @kelechi_eo

APRIL’S FOOLS



April is here,
and we’re fools again,
to the mystery of life’s gain.

Magnolias and hail
sweet longer evenings,
fills our time with musings.

Easter on the way
seduced by daffodils,
wonderfully time always refills.

Inspired by @gotnomoniker

RICH BAD STEW



When daily Life is Too Hot,
Who cares if home is a Pot?

We’re born to make Breath.
We are all groomed to Fight,
Schooled, cooked to Adapt

Nigeria is a pot of Rich Stew
Badly cooked by the rich Few.

HEADS OR TAILS


Toss the coin all your life,
Balance on edges of a knife.
Whither roam your own course
If life to you is just a lone farce.

Are you not lost in thought;
Like the canine who fought
His own tail round and round,
With its very head not sound?

EVERY WAR IS JUST A BATTLE



Old men always dream up wars,
To send more young men to die.
It’s been one of their flaws,
Will always be for it’s no lie.

The young always follow them;
For it’s their forte to be gullible.
Today’s young men,
Tomorrow’s old men

WORN NOT OUT

There’s a thing about every action
That speaks for every perception
And it tells it’s own unique story
Consciously archived in memory

Any wretched tale of denial,
Of disdained failure and trial,
Will reveal as a dogged bout
Of one toughened life time,
All worn through but not out.

SLUG


As we moan in our far watch;
Nagging our peopled conscience,
We miss out entirely that the catch
Is made up of all our overt nonsense.

A large rich island just drags on,
Not for the size it must always hug.
The bulk of it lost the very reason
Why rich minds will make it a slug.

FINE TIMES


Winners so abound,
Strapped and bounded.
Elated all around,
Joyously dumb-founded.

Those fine times
Speaks for all kinds.
Saying as do chimes,
That time do binds.

Rare times of winning
Brings forth the hidden.
Revealing all missing;
Like fingers in a mitten.

WHY SHE HAWKS

Why does time keep ticking,
never waiting or ever stopping?
Why does the air fill our lungs,
and we live, where we belong?

Why does mother work still,
while she looks like we all feel?
Why does she walk the street,
daily giving humility a new feet?

BREATHE



If you have a head ache
are you sick in the head?
When a body part break
does it mean it’s your end?

Take it a day at a time
each day again as bright
Chin up for it’s again fine
Just pause, chill and breathe.

BUDDIES

All buddies have a thing they do
That comes with time and trust
It is something they share too;
Something that can not be lost.

They could be more than two;
With more bodies than it cost.
Still they share something true,
They can’t say for sure or sort.

TOMORROW






And come
It home.

That window;
Our mirror.

It makes
As wakes.

Another date
For fate.

Another day.
Oops, away!

Lets pray
And say.

The morrow
Will show

Us about,
Run, shout;

Shoulders high,
Tomorrows here!

.

SOMEBODY’S MOTHER

There’s patience in every wait,
and really, nothing is ever late.
With time, effort and faith,
even a mountain is a gate.

Your pained toil is gone yonder,
it’s training carried you further.
Now that the biology is over,
Earn your pride as a mother.

HANDFUL OF CLAY



That simple deed you daily handle
Reveal so much about how you work.
Just as everybody carries their bundle
Of life’s joy and sorrow that will mock.

That piece of action you handle
Reveal your final piece of work.
Just like every artists’ own bundle
Of clay would praise and also mock.

AGE IS TIME

Age is not just a number
It is time and much more.
Age is a climbing descend,
And a diminishing ascend.

Age is a race with time!;
For and also against time.
One day young and on top.
next, old and about to drop.

THE WORLD IN A LITTLE ROOM


What you have seen before now
Is nothing like you will yet know.
Mountains higher than the clouds
Or galaxies from fictional worlds
Will flash before you in fast floods.

The breath of a lung transits
Or to anti-bodies a virus submits.
The skeleton of a lonely fetus,
As that of a Mammoth is shown us
And not a scene is ever a loss.

The Red sea had betrayed
The depths Egyptians embraced.
White Mountains of ice only
In the south pole melts slowly
As you watch it all so warmly.

Roof of this world up high
Marbles the earth down here.
Clusters of fish eggs hatches,
Soldier ant worker matches,
As its eyelids blinks its lashes.

The wedding of a Queens maid
Or a Roman shield in a pyramid.
A shark outwit a dozen sailors,
Unlike Caesar in a senate of traitors
Centuries ago showed their failures.

A terrorist and freedom fighter
Are both made a fire and its lighter.
A domesticated wolf devours a man,
For a just reason it is shown it can.
You enjoy the deserts heat under a fan.

Bloody vessels in vain roam a sea,
A ghost discusses and drinks tea.
The passengers of an old plane crash
Board same plane again and smash.
Wealth you see leaves you no cash.

Every conceivable game is played
By men, animals, plants displayed.
The thickest clouds parade the sky
On pillars Himalayans peak up high
Or over raging ocean waters they fly.

Dancing birds dressed up to mate,
Two collapsed towers dust their fate.
Deepest valleys in the ocean waters
Reveal their secrets nature alters,
Nothing else in the world matters.

Uproar of a stampede crowds on,
Boiling heat erupting within the sun.
Sudden death stills a pumping heart,
A sprints heat repeated from start,
The tracks appear your viewing mat.

Ash, gas and molten are experienced
Volcano erupts its bowels so tensed.
Frogs hopping on water incredibly,
Like a pebble tossed so skillfully.
Sand storms windowed luxuriously.

Satans countless personifications,
Lords every era that raped nations.
Dancers of every race, sort and style,
Every single bubble in a mug of ale.
You see the characters in every tale.

Sparingly dressed wives in a harem,
Cardinal’s son talk as you hear them.
A view beneath a standing Scots kilt,
Happenings in a billionaires treat.
Everything in sight, with every tilt.

Bullets leaving a steel chamber,
A pierced lung as all its air wonder.
Endless flocks of Pelicans go south,
Yellow Monarchs clouds flicker north
Their beauty fills the mind’s thought.

Angels shield a saint on a mission,
Nerves’ twitch response a decision.
Ant like pedestrians on a city street,
Unsympathetic, selfish, proud fleet
Leave tastes bitter, salty, sour, sweet.

Mans quest for unknown perfections
Blurs with omissions or commissions
Constructed aids in achieved means
Entertain, educate, inform all beings,
Yet humanity’s future it weans.

THE HENS ODD CHICK


The grass blades shake off droplets,
as she led on her mild yellow train.
Her own adorable dozen little pets,
squealing within their own tiny rain,
before the morning dew finally melts
and all the worms go deep down again.

She beaks a large borrowing worm
and they crowd round her as quick,
Wrestle the struggling stringy form
from her higher and bigger beak.
They pieces it all amongst their sum,
except again that weird odd chick.

Scratching off the sandy soil top
to pick and feed on the grains sort,
the serious Hen and her low troop;
all except that chick which does not.
Strangely though in a marshy mud top,
it walks easily as fed with its beak blunt.

Then it happens like it does always,
her dozen subtracts after and after.
At the stream where a worm ever plays,
danger is more and always there to alter.
The odd chick water takes in its ways;
Strangely it floats on, to the Hens whimper.

WOE MAN


Place of the woman is spent;
through timely cratered vent.
She’s raging in her eruptions;
in her hair raising formations.

Still her place further reduces;
within every gain she chooses.
She’s the lesser man as before,
her sex ever breeds a new woe.

TALE OF TWO PEOPLE


Up on the plateau they reigned,
Their own old clans so formed.
Hidden on the heights plain,
Living in plentys much rain.

They welcome guests well,
As prosperous strangers tell.
Soon dominance is so evident
And for the sold they want rent.

Wherever time is so kept,
Such a place has it since left.
Two is never again one unless
One is expunged and no less.

Identity established so firm,
Fights a war not for their farm.
Bullying their co-farmers yield
With poised spears and a shield.

THE SLEEPER


Why’ll this air carry a plane
And not carry me alone too,
Or indeed a speech in its vein
Across nothing instantly true.

Why will a big city of a ship
Sail oceans leagues in depth
And I sink in a pool as I sleep,
Like many tiny pebbles too wept.

I see no answer in practice
Or reason in their pattern.
Where a dream does surface,
There my sleep shows concern.

AFRICA


Darkest people ever found,
A huge pistol points wrong.
If here man got his sound;
Earth, Africa is your song.

AND WHAT A POOR SONG IT HAS THUS BEEN

WOUNDS OF THE WORLD


Visible cuts we saw,
Deep set and so raw.
It had the pretty torn
And the beholder run.

Worn with its pride
As any true bride.
A scar from a war
Is like a lions roar.

Not on Everests peak
Must anyone do seek,
For even on all hills
Are these worlds ills.

The baby that cries,
Steals away and tries;
To be his own parent,
Where he is only sent.

That spouse out back;
Behind one Holy Ark,
Leaves the same vow
Yet remains, some how.

They; as many, are
So near and not far.
Wounds made bold
In this very world.

RACES


They get set, ready and go.
To where? God only will know.
Revolting round earthly tracks
Which knows not their tasks.

Their quests are not visible
Or even humanly sensible.
Competing with complexions,
Hairs, noses and eyes in nations.

What wins these long races
That recognizes their faces,
Will not justify the future;
For races aren’t their nature.

DATE


Silly days made our teens,
sorting out our teething genes.
Over those moons, new till old,
our hormones shiver their cold.

Tasting all those many dishes;
many we met with their witches,
Others we borrowed and mended.
But lots we created and trended.

The sting of disappointments sore,
betrayal and pain and much more.
Ageing fear is sour but it is caught;
yet still we trove amidst same death.

To all morrows we cherished
that date we shared perished,
and thank it so for that spice
it puts into this new date so nice.