Stuck In Mud (On a people's plight)

The wind of disorder is blowing,
Slowing us down!
The dark clouds have eclipsed the sun,
Rendering the future bleak!
There is no light, no hope,
Even the birds are shocked to silence!

I looked and saw the disgruntled people
Wailing and cursing.
They were stuck in mud!
Helpless and distressed in the slough of hopeless deprivation,
Their fleshes grew weary as faces murmur in smiling agony!
Stuck in the mud, their voice trekked to oblivion
While the sincere liars ‘glow with pride’!

The cabals in high places see them,
Sinking deeper and deeper into the mire,
But their hands are too busy to help,
Counting gold and pouring wine!
“Who will deliver us?” I mutter,
But the question ascends like a balloon,
Steadily, into the sullen sky…

(c) by Kingsley Ayi Ukpanyang (@ayistar) and Showumi Olawale Michael (@shomyk)
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson (@xikay) -

See more at: http://www.naijastories.com/2012/11/stuck-in-mud-on-a-peoples-plight/#sthash.Fn30td7H.dpuf

The Lazy Jazz

The sleep of a laboring man is sweet,
But a lazy man's slumber is his greatest feat.

It irks a lazy man when early
birds chirp;
For he loves not to discontinue his sleep:

Instead of getting up to fetch the hoe,
He'd bury his face in the pillow!

The lazy one muses about fortune and cars,
Yet thinks it enervating to fill up his jars;

While he tours the realm in style and speed,
His land is overgrown with serious weeds!

When his belly murmurs thunder and his face is drawn,
He will seek the yeoman and beg for corn!

Poverty is justice for the lazy man
And failure for him with no plan

In all labor there is profit,
But idleness boosts deficit.

A shiftless person is the devil's animal,
You'll find him picking pockets at the bus terminal!

"I DUG MY GRUDGES"

I dug my grudges from my trove
And stowed it in a chest.
Off I heaved to the west,
Fluttering my wings of love;

I did cast it into the sea,
Its pressure made it drown:
The load is gone which weighed me down;
Thus, my heart is free.

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What Man Is Special

What man is special?
Misfortune visits all!

E'eryone must face trial,
What man is special?

Bear burdens with a smile
Stand or fall!
What man is special,
Misfortune visits all!

(c) Ayistar
18/12/2012

*A Triolet is a short poem of fixed
form, having a rhyme scheme of
AB, aA, abAB.

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