DUTIFUL or BUTIFUL

Many are they

Formed by clay

Others by sand

Molded with hand.

Touch not, was the command

Why not, we duly demand

Forgetting our ultimate duty

Is upholding alginate beauty.

How sad!

None ever had

Successfully done that.

It isn't easy but,

This fine girl

Has a story to tell.

To avoid a lengthy reading vice,

She poemed this advice.

Dutiful or butiful

The former is a delight

The latter isn't right

Twins are counted as ones

Although born at once,

Their destiny only comes by chance.

Everyone is beautiful,

Very few however, are dutiful.

Digging for gold hidden

Where benignly forbidden

Doesn't take courage

But desire for such voyage

Suitors of truth and falsehood

Far and within the neighborhood

Who in your despair strongly stood

Behind you as pillar that never shook

May be fished out by common hook

Helpers may fade

Lovers may jade

Money may not be there to take

Especially when duty is at stake

But personality

A twin of integrity

Faith of persistence

Dimpled smile of beauty

And a search for purpose and duty

Will grant an achievement

That will forever live as a testament.

Meet Adwoa, A-dwo-a:

Pronounced Ajoa

Monday born and lover of Bible

A name of three syllable

Like a knock on the door of destiny

Blessed with beauty and sense of duty.

Comments

RFFS PRAYER

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.

THE BLISS of STRIFE

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.

FALLEN ANGELS

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...

POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

Search This Blog