POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

The search for true love is as threading a path slowly Experiencing rocks and thorns gently But when it fails, try again secondly This time using a boat actually And if no whale swallows you due finish, I bet you'll catch a big fish. Smiles with cute lips like the base of a funnel, Ready to direct peaceful traffic, Through your heart's tunnel, With care, calm and comic. If you tune to your marriage channel Choose a wife with qualities of Fennel. Get a natural girl Date a pretty pearl One who doesn't easily yell She probably is your night angel Love the one who tells when you smell Who knows what's up As you sleep she stays up When your failed dreams break you up She is the one to help make them up A lady who doesn't make beauty up And would never suggest a break up. An Eve who says Adam taste this Not just someone to roll your testes Be proud of one who nags  When you fail to give her hugs Because when others treat you like rug She is the veterinarian dealing with

A snack of whey and milk mixture Popularly heard nowadays with a pose Cherished mostly by those Who fancy that thing called picture Gently distanced from a pinhole camera Benignly bright bristles beneath With gums so dark and neat And a few more flesh underneath Is the home of a smiling teeth Kept daily and oiled with Olive Blessed with love and a life to live Say Cheese, let thy heart at peace Brush your hair and stand at ease. Whenever there's photograph to appease, Turn around, let your worries veer If possible grab a glass of beer. Say cheese if you wish  Roll your tongue like satellite dish For no matter your beauty Pixels always make you pretty Consider the end of the matter, They say, than the beginning. Sometimes disagreed with laughter Yet believers till the end never stop smiling.

Queer is this romantic adage A true serf and peasant accolade Heard even at tender age Not meant for a lass to cascade Nor an idiom for labs to contemplate But for the hunger it tends to abate. Harmattan Pawpaw Coined by environmental determinism With pros and cons of tropical sarcasm Intriguing as a prose Shakespearean Unique in clan like the red Indian Within the dry walls lives the unseen Apocalypse A Kingdom of the true Messian Few followers go in to see the sweet magician And half decide to remain in his trickery abyss. Harmattan Pawpaw The true manna in the harsh pine With a single root it's still fine All are free to claim her thine In drought she calls us home to dine This is the thin tall African fruitful tree  Boosting our Farmer's hunting spree Ever supporting in times of need Cut none of such, our anointed plead Most sweetest when adversely scarcest Liken to lovers who mesmerise their dearest. Oo ye harmattan Pawpaw I believe in the market you are what I saw Just be

His hands aren't too short to save, Neither his path too crooked to pave  Nor feeble to us the mind he gave Blessed be who believes without erring Foolish indeed who judges just by hearing God loves Africans they alleged Not wondering how that news was heard He hails from us historians have said But the foreigners proclaimed him to us I had read Where is the truth in this message Or it's all at the mercy of a heresy? You have a child with deformity we were told, A son of about thirty minutes old, Being our first time is why we felt cold However, if Fennel and I were then bold This story wouldn't today unfold. With nurses mimicking the unfortunate road he plied, Its Iris appear red, brown, yellow like dyed. Simply, our kid was declared a one eyed As the doctor made retarding sighs While examining his left and right eyes. Amidst fear, panic and fury, And a child in my arms like armoury, We left without hearing the doctor's caution, That sunlight was a blend concoction Loc

We the fortunate ones Those who weren't sanitized at once At least from biblical pandemics Those anointed theological comics  Black sheep in the day, white wolf at night We were saved anyway, by grace not might. It hasn't been any different from what I sought, That bottle of oil my wife had bought To save our son we gracefully begot. Borges was our patrimonial argot But He asked, "Is that all you've got" Who then is He? The man who baptized we. "He" represents all false prophets, Who studied the holy pamphlets And to amass for their own pockets, Deceive the religious illiterates To unbind any ties with soul mates Hence, sanitizing their thinking cups. Unless you buy my oil, This child will soon be in the soil. This is how we lost hope Our faith in him was so dope Trusted he could help us cope, Bishop Corona was only an expired coke Who had semblance of a good Pope.

Haps sung with strings and harps Sometimes said with strings attached Especially those of iconic mishaps Wishes recited with rhymes detached All in the name of what will people say We woefully help make their day Birthday rhythm of the morning Sincere condolences for the night As if to help in mourning And to stick till you feel alright Marital support with gifts on site Naming ceremonies graced all in white Forging unity with heart and might But no one to say goodnight Many troubles behind the sweet smiles Some that go with us for many miles Pains that can't be seen in eyes Needs beyond individual ties Sometimes it's lack of mere love And the sense of humor we don't have Our backs turned in pursuit of nothingness Hoping to survive by curtailing kindness A table is set with no dish And meal served without fish Then why proclaim the brotherhood fetish? If only we would take a second look Purport at will to read each other's look Maybe we shall not just type the good wish

We mostly hear the comparison; as white as snow, Although often there's nothing pure they show. But this lady is as fair as shrimp's below. Were she a song, I'ld listen till my ear lobe blow There's a toffee shop down the lane, The sweetness in its pack gets me insane. An estate girl has it for sale, My route and her footpath is same, When we first met she told me a love thale, And I now love her so who's to blame? Toffees are sweet but only to those who taste them. This one wrapped brown is my problem. Before meeting her, I ate pancake. And it's why she's refusing me her chocolate. If not for love, I'll spank her for being late. Can I yet vomit in her arms, To free my belly of old charms, And wed her in one of my golden farms? The time is soon and the date set Next new moon or June I bet Plans are made, is the cash ready? The man is late, but is the bride groomed already?

It hasn't been any different from what I sought, That bottle of oil my wife had bought To save our son we gracefully begot. Borges was our patrimonial argot But "He" asked, "Is that all you've got" Who then is He? The man who baptized we. "He" represents all false prophets, Who studied the holy pamphlets And to amass for their own pockets, Deceive the religious illiterates To unbind any ties with soul mates Hence, sanitizing their thinking cups. This is how we lost hope, Our faith in him was so dope Trusting he could help us cope, But Rev Father Corona was an expired coke Who had semblance of a good Pope. You have a child with deformity we were told, A son of about thirty minutes old, Being our first time is why we felt cold However, if Fennel and I were then bold This story wouldn't today unfold. With nurses mimicking the unfortunate road he plied, Its Iris appear red, brown, yellow like dyed. Simply, our kid was declared a one-eyed As the doc