POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

And here the times come; The times you’ll stand tall, And yet your tears will fall. Not for being troubled, But blessings being doubled. Then you’ll remember how you did wait, Sometimes in the dew, With faith your only bait, Just to know when time is due. Those times shall come nevertheless; Where He will surely find you to bless. But will you be in too much hurry, Or will you take just a minute to tarry? Will you uphold that anchor, And still maintain your sense of humor? Will the virtue in you be forgone, Or your trust in God be forlorn? In those moments; When you have no more worry, May you not be too busy, But remember the monuments, That has brought you over the moon.

And here the times come; The times you’ll stand tall And yet your tears will fall. Not for being troubled, But blessings being doubled. Then you will have no more time; No more time for routines, Even the morning warm water and lime, And your favorite dawn gospel tunes. Will you have time for physique, Or your heart to God will turn oblique? Then will you miss your daily exercise; The payer that keeps you spiritual. Will the quiet time zeal turn skeptical? These times shall come nevertheless; Where He will surely find you to bless. But will you be in too much hurry, Or will you take just a minute to tarry? In those moments, When we have no more worry, May we remember the monuments, That has brought us Hunky-dory.

Most often than not,  Heroes do fade with their names unsung. But the shadows of their past, And the candles we light all night, Can at least serve as lyrics, To compose for their departed souls, A new song for us to be consoled. Patriots they’re now called, As dirty politics has now stalled. For once at most, We all agree to a toast, In solemnity and not at the bar, That this life is by far, An expedition with a divine illusion. Yes indeed they were; Heroes as we now call them. Not because it sounds like an anthem, But for the national emblem, They did responsibly revere. Was it the natural order? Is it because someone failed to bother? Was it their time? Are the questions we continue to mime. But will the answer save us a dime, As a nation in her own prime? Let the eight angels fly high, As families make a thirst quenching sigh, And create for them a legacy in perpetuity. For if we seek another opportunity, And let these men go forgotten, There shall be no more fallen angles from...

This is the lottery of life, That a lot of men,  Tend not to see as an Omen, Full of bliss but only strife. We either get to long live, Or soon forced to leave. Be lucky to be born, Or remain a spirit borne. But no matter how you came to exist, There’s only one way to exit. Through the tunnel of death, Whether neat or with dirt. So just in case you are here, And you have some fruit to bear, Let us get to taste you in due time. Whether sweet or as sour as lime. Breathe in more air, But in your heart, do not err. Enjoy life as a sweet aroma to smell, But for your sake, let no one else yell. Anytime you are angry, Just assume you’re hungry. Seek the bread of life if you can. Because vain life is just an empty can.

‎ They will come close ooo yeah! ‎ Pretending to help wipe your tear. ‎ Be watchful oo dear! ‎ Else they swipe your glory clear. ‎ ‎ Cheer up for now my friend, ‎For this prophesy is yet unripe. ‎So long as you are yet to trend, ‎Their plans are still in the pipe. ‎ ‎Only one thing can be done. ‎Be careful where you sleep, ‎When the night does come. ‎In case the road becomes steep, ‎Make sure you don't slip. ‎ ‎If you can't pretend then try. ‎Let them not see you cry. ‎For as soon as you shed a tear, ‎They will get together and cheer. ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ Which is easy to do? ‎ Love me emotionally, ‎ Or trust me willy nilly? ‎ For such, are we doyen. ‎ ‎ Maybe none at all, ‎ Will fit this discourse. ‎ Neither the brain this small, ‎ Or a large heart for this course. ‎ ‎ Let me trust your infractions, ‎ Let thy words know no simile. ‎ When nature closes my eyes, ‎ Still abide with me till the mile. ‎ ‎ Show me thy love! ‎ Make it seem from above. ‎ Treat me with passion, ‎ As if your skin feels my traction. ‎ ‎A twin allies, ‎Whose foes are lies. ‎Like the tongue and teeth, ‎Then mouth has caused them to tame. ‎ ‎ That together in one den of crust, ‎ They must work hand-in-hand. ‎ So treat me as you may demand. ‎For without love, where is trust?

Christmas is Here! And we Shall Soon be Drawing Near, To a Happy New Year. To men, there are Gifts giving.  To God, there's Thanksgiving.  And Believers will be busy Praying. But will this Spirit Live All Year? Here still lingers few fingers with tears and fear. Kids with dreams and hopes in qualms, Just seeking your kind arms. But what Hope do we Give, To those Bereaved, And the Less Advantaged. Help put Smiles on those Faces, Till their Teeth Reveal the Braces. Tighten their Shoes with Laces, Till We All Win in our Christian Races. MERRY CHRISTMAS from us.

EX Xs X, who is your Ex? Surely someone you once liked. Someone you didn't expect to lose. Your unexpected disappointment. But God knew it was the wrong choice. It's advisable to cut all ties with him. Don't ever wish for someone like her. Since you were not meant to be,  God has set you free. So After This XMAS,  Forget all the X problems. Your X fears. That X factor that discourages you. Let bad news be your EX. Embrace 2025 like there's no Ex in your life.  Here Comes Some Hope. Grab All The Peace. Have Godly Faith. And Show Some Love.

May they all die, If they buy water from Dubai. This is not a curse, But the prayer of a nurse. Oo Ghana!  We all call you mama, But we despise your breast, Forgetting she once quenched our thirst. And now we encroach on the milky way, With strikes and campaigns all day, Thinking the galaxy is ours to slay, Not appreciating the sky where they stay. They've eaten and still ask for  dessert. So we turn our waters into Milo, And our forests into deserts, So they can quench their thirst. Exchanging oil with gold, Is how the stories are told. All lies,  Yes! lies with open eyes. They apply makeup to our faces, With brushes dipped in feces. At the ballot we see them, Yeah with catchy themes, Singing their famous anthem, And we make them our emblem. Should we join the train, Driven by those we kowtow, For half a loaf in our bowl? Are we worthy of disdain? Are we short sighted as they claim? No we won't!  Yes you shouldn't! Let them not take you for a ride, At least for once...

Alhamdullilah  It's such a wonder how it always happen. My alarm and the cock crow in such a sudden. Such an occurrence is so monumental That it can't be regarded accidental. A reminder of the natural troll On our trust in artificial intelligence. And the alliance that coexist Between a non living Clock, And a heavenly gifted Cock. Even when your alarm clock is down, The Cock crow is there to signal a new dawn, The voice that awakens the sun. God's magnificence is personified, And His omniscience is magnified.. It may sound Kokrokooo, or nkokuokoo depending on the drum in one's ears.  All to give praise to God for a brand new day. In an Akan dialect, it's interpreted as Okrokoko. "Almighty"

Anytime I'm called for duty... Wherever deployment takes me, Pervert from my path, any mutiny... But give me the strength to be; The rescuer, the protector and the fire fighter. Whenever I'm gone for stand by... Lord, grant me a listening watch.  All incursions, hazards and risks, May I with my crew identify... Where unavoidable, enable us to mitigate.. Be it in the terminal, tarmac or boarding gate.. Should there ever be an emergency, Wherever fire may rage.. Should there be any shout, No matter the skin or age.. Help me put the fire out, And my neighbor, help me save. And if by your will... Any blood may spill... Leading to any fatality, Protect my wife and kids, And preserve the rest of my crew.

They breastfed us, yes but we bit them.  With their lips as an emblem, They liberated our nostrils, Of phlegms meandering like contrails. A career woman she's now called, Aid to man when his pocket stalled. Beautifully keeps the house before going to work, Yet at home we fail to praise her worth.  So shall the real woman wake, Early from bed and for her family, bake.  And we still ask, "How arduous are house chores? A mere sweeping and cleaning course. Therefore a mother's grin: Is mostly misconstrued. Seldom depicting true bliss, Other times, it's a rare solace, In how much age her child accrued.  Then she flashes back in time, As if she never lost a dime, While pruning her children, Even though it hurt her spine. The sacrifices she made, Stooping so low as their maid, Just to get them to fill their belly. And yet, we think it's her biblical duty? That's the mother's calling. Of which not every woman can hear, Some try due to the love they fall in, But mos...

The kitchen was theirs in the days of old, They were the housewives, so I'm told. So shall the real woman wake, Early from bed and for her family bake, The bread of life. Such was the routine of a good wife. What at all is house chores? A mere sweeping and cleaning course, Yet we're expected to praise them aloud, And pamper them like a manner from the cloud. If this mind of societal stereotype, Keep flowing freely like a leaking pipe, In an era of this economic hype. Shall our women be healthy alive, Even if indeed they do survive? A career woman she's now called, Aid to man when his pocket stalled, Beautifully dressed to work, Yet at home we fail to praise her worth. This is poetry for May day, A caution for men to make hay. As she helps financially at home, Assist her to tidy up the dome. Now she's green and stands tall, But green leaves too do fall.  After all this grass has dried up, What else will dare to spring up?

The English Premiere League has best players, pitches and coaches.  Some are talented like Arteta,  Others are relentless like Guardiola. A few want to escape relegation but they don't know how. In most cases, they call Eddie Howe.  In the process of finding answers; Here are Ten questions, Answered by Ten Hag: Is the English Premiere League Hot? "The league burns a lot, like Burnley" Which team has the best football field? "The only field for goals this season is Sheffield"  Do you think FFP rule is of everyone's interest? "Of course not, see NorthernHam Forest" Would you then suggest anything?  "This question should be for Everton" Can you qualify Man United for Europe since the matches left are just six? "We're already there on the table, lose or win, we are sixth"

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.

So they forced us. No, they persuaded us. Or they educated us? They rather Christened us. Whatever they did to us, Has been as good as, The wisdom their book has. Are they truly the words of God? It mostly feels like yes, Other times a bit more less. Like prophecies in poetic verse, Alphabetically scripted in wisdom, Not known where they come from. I'll read it nevertheless, And you should not do otherwise. At least it will keep you from any mess, And the meditations shall make thee wise. If the revelations make you cheer less, Read the chapters that make you fearless. Just Read The BIBLE

I come as an usher with solutions, To all your new year resolutions. A lot of prayers on my head, And I must do it all as the first born. Why don't you love me? Is it my fault at all, That I was born first and tall? Was it not your own doing? So why the early booing? They say I am too long, While teasing me with a song. Workers hate to say my name. But students love me all the same. I had to fast till the fifth week, And even while I prayed, You ate and made merry, With the son of virgin Mary. So please love me this year. Just make room for me. If you plan for me, You will love my vibe. Anytime you hear of December, I am January, her elder brother. I come to wipe the past away, To give you A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

December, we can't regret; a sanctuary. But first let's not forget.  The one whom it begot; January. From drought through frost to flood: Such a flying time we've had. Although it hasn't been a boilerplate, I have so much with you to contemplate, Since we all began the year at the same place. Was yesterday not January? That skin drying and lips bursting mammoth. The longest yard of a measured cloth, Hated by salary workers for a month? Then came one so feeble. Short, stout and stable. February came with calm, And soon, we all had bread in palm. He came waiting for Easter, His holy moly sister. The fasting months soon approached: Marching to April as it May. Remember our sacrificial lamb; Jesus, our non-sink sand, The solid ground on whom we stand. Here is the mouth-watering, The mixed-cropping, The earth-soaking. June's journey with Julie to July, On an August occasion we can't deny. That led us to the quadruplet "BER" factory, Where the bittersweet ch...