POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

The life of a politician, The vice of a servant, Greed of a Ghanaian, All in a currency we all want. We both want to travel, But our destination is parallel. They believe in tourism, leisure and exploitation. We like fame, dreams and imagination. If for something they willed, They enslaved us to wield. Although that sincere force, Isn't no more of course. We both want to prosper anyway, But our paths are not the same. As their leaders make hay, Ours strive on the blame game. We think it's a brain drain, But it's actually a mutual gain. They attract us with package travels, We return home with good morsels.  We eagerly want to make it, Embassies are helping if you permit, But only if your answers are wiser, That an interview grants you a visa. So in case you see, Just in case! My money in a room or suitcase, Grab it all, not just handfuls. For good medication is taken in spoonfuls. Because, the future we do conjure, That better Ghana we hope for, Is hidden here in rooms, Whe

Yesterday we were in church, So the word also came, In the same accord, As this saying of fame. " Many are called but few are chosen" I hope you did record. A few years ago she met  This guy called Bennett  Who cast a vast feminine net And left to his comfortable nest To snap out a short rest  Bennett was the man of vibes Who had just bought  The newest Pontiac Vibe So her eyes were caught She was surely the next A naive girl yet hard to get Had just become a good harvest For the King of the forest When he returned from his rest His net had caught no fish But meat albeit darkish And he knew this was his best So he hurriedly freed this meat Washed and dressed her neat For he did not just cast his net, He was looking for a good pet.

She asked we meet at her house, And I was like, Aarh! For she wore mini skirt and blouse, So I had to leave the door ajar. Thus how I rather fell to her char. Oo son of Abel Fearn't thee the daughter of Jezebel? For all men, your dad was the last  To be soiled with her lust. So that in Ghana, aside malaria All medication has an ability Far stronger than Viagra Supposed to enhance sexuality. She gave me a dose For the cordial path we paved And we introduced it to those Who in Christ, were already saved. Now they buy it more than us Taking it in as much as We have had in our lifetime, Until their untimely lifeline.  But there's a spirit in man Able to nurture a holy generation With pure heart not woven in yarn In this era of erotic dispensation.

A mother's grin: Is mostly misconstrued Seldomly her smile Depicts true bliss  Of how much age her child accrued.  Then she flashes back in time As if she never lost a dime While pruning her child's pine Even when 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 duty. What sort of duty Will combine neat and dirty And still serve when sixty With no wage or salary? That's the mother's calling. Of which not every woman hears Some try due the love they fall in, But most of them don't bear, Except this woman sitting here.

Ideas they say are like noses, For how noble or not it sounds. So is the eye that dozes. It blinks in freezing rounds. Charm, they say is deceptive, But beauty has a single perspective. Simply put, we all like nice things. Bcos love is not blind as they claim. So approach me as I stand aside, Although you may feel shy. Maybe not for a bad why, But for snares of a flashback. What at all do you want? And why think that you can't? Just give this path a try. It might be the street you'll 4ever ply. Ply to this sane garden, Where fruits are not forbidden. The narrow road, Where the story of Adam is told.

Events that operate for or against, Forces that obliterate our gains, As if opportunity but bring us pains. Those aren't what we call luck, But the teasers we wish to lack. So we pose supine but appear prone, In the eyes of those yet unknown. We're sure our beauty won't waste, So our hair will entrench our waist, Till the hour we alpha our fate. Don't misinterpret our smile, Or compromise our amity awhile. For we gaze as the winds whirl, With white eyes and hands on hips, As heirs with blossoming lips. Talking to God in a spiritual chat, Till we celebrate in an entrechat, For answers to the desires of our heart, Which are the things we love.

Act 2:17, "And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams" See how beautiful you all perch, Solely to prove that we're in church. The old speak in tongues, And youth preach with gongs. A sacrosanct routine like this,  And we think we're in the spirit. So we win many souls today, Tomorrow we don't know where they stay. We then give the biblical excuse, Quoting that the laborers are few. But do we have enough Pew, To accommodate the souls anew? On which solid rock do you stand, Against the nemesis of the sinking sand? So they come in and flush us out, Because we haven't guarded our own house. Remember the days of old, Where in worship, prophesy unfold? Was there not Eli, when God chose to speak to Samuel? This is the highest level of maturity, an epitome of spiritual purity, and an evidenc

The sperm that fertilized this egg. The womb that warmed it up, The woman who birthed him, And trained me to move my leg. The man who educated thee, By paying even my feeding fee. The teachers who caned thy butt, And those who replenished thy lack. The God who made it all possible. That took me out of trouble, And today I can face tomorrow. To whom I run to beg and borrow. Friends for the bad and good, Siblings who by me stood, Family and neighborhood, Who saw me through boyhood. If not for you my crash, The guy who stole my girlfriend, And the lady who bounced me. But for you my love, I am matured today.

💌💌👋👼 Have you ever wished to have been born with a silver spoon? It's going to be fine soon. Just as night runs with the moon. So shall we see a brighter noon. How long shall we wait to smile? As long as we can go the next mile. And even if they cast the dice, We hope on God who never dies. Thus why anytime you pass by, Never forget to say hi. We do so not because we aren't shy, But to lift the lonely person's spirit high.

What a friend we have in Jesus, That lasts longer than they tell us. We grew up with that notion, And it spread throughout the nation. So I was in my room last night, And I felt a shadow on sight. It wasn't the holy spirit, But my nephew Bright. He attempted stepping aside, When I pulled him to my side. He said, Uncle let me wait outside, For you are busy inside. Come with me instead, I said I'm just talking to my Jesus. Since you just woke from bed, Come let's do it together instead. So we joined hands talking to Jesus, And he has since not left our side. What a friend you too can have in Jesus, Closer than I can describe.

Ooo man, ye have no time. Even what you have, isn't yours. Yes, you can set an alarm Then in time, it chimes. Yet your time will never come. Even if it does, It's just for a week. Once a day at least, Till another sun via the east. That's the fact of life. It surely shall be But certainly not yours, God's time always stands. Monitor a clock as you wish. And even as you read this, Tweak the watch on your wrist, To make it work as and when. Thy hard work shall pay So long as you make hay But until God gives you His, Your time will never come.

Beautiful bullets of slogans Fired with prose of puns But with lips not guns Full of new year plans, For my all time Love. Thus how we do it mostly Some loud, others softly But the real wishes Come subtly like hisses, To the ears of the blessed Whose ways are clearly marked Yes, almost perfect By the unknown architect.  A woman of choice Known for her decency  Clothed with affluence  With a clean heart poised To blend beauty and duty. I can't wish but to pray That this beauty without fawn Never sees any frown Even after the dawn On your happiest birthday 

This is a story of the odyssey  Who had tongues without mute Remotely controlled by a minute Iota of a heresey  Information although is good Must be taken out of data Either from an old book Or one's own adventure So whenever we saw him come Each of us expected some Kind of education of a sort And we did have what we sought But come what may  In case your mind no dey After every lengthy speech A contract was there to breach A lie to be told alas  With a bit of truth perhaps    So anytime you enjoy listening  Remember, man no dey chop stories! 

You nearly missed this  Opportunity to keep him  And remain with the one  Who gave you your first sex Couldn't you have been A goat or a fig tree? Or just another oxen But you are lucky men So why not repent now Book a new guesthouse Keep it clean from the louse  With sweet perfumes of wow And don't waste the night Be awake as a knight Your lover will soon be on site With beauty and might  Weak not, fret not, tire not in prayer  For the groom must be a player  Who studies the art of romance From the book of Romans.

So that each and every year Since I met my dear I never ever regret The babe I did get  Yes we met in jail Where nothing else could prevail It was in cold April Yet, for each other we did travail  Bonded in chains Together in pains But we fought  Just as we're taught To remain always tough Swallowing the bitter pills  And miming the cough  Accompanied by the chills Today we rejoice  In the love we forged In the mindset we thought In the scars we begot  And the patience we bought  So as a day passes by Don't forget to aim high In wet, cold and dry It's possible so do try Break out from Jail Even if it means killing a soldier For many innocent souls Are dead for their lover.

With your back against the wall, Or the belly on the ball, That which shall enter your mouth, Won't ever go through the anus. So is the blow, That's meant for your cheeks. It shall never be subbed for a kiss, Albeit on the elbow. Such is the file of life: If soil can be remade, Into Lois, a pretty handmaid, Who then can claim doyen? Except the artist in heaven. So keep seeking, that job you fancy, Keep calling, that girl called Nancy. Appear decent to the God above. Be charming to that man you love. It doesn't matter your fumes, Over the numerous attempts. You can call it contretemps, But wildflowers give out perfumes. Once or twice, All days may not bring good tidings. Also will the cries have endings. So anytime you are out of options, Remember this poem you're reading. 

Thou art a color So I heard. Yeah, a man with honour They all declared. Are thou not a mere rumor Overly revered? Aren't thou a color Named after a deed? An act of kindness, A lady of sweet odour.  Whether maimed or memed? Why haven't I met thee? Are they all scam? The chocolate chunk, The red velvet cake, And the love formed, In hearts that testified. Which color art thou oo dear? Just in case you know me Hide not from me your face At least for once. Waste no more this chance As my yearn for you fade, Be my valentine on this date.

So this is Christmas? A holy occasion, though not a must. Yet esteemed as much. One's whole life story, Is limited to just a week of merry. Amongst the lot, it was Mary, With a week more to Marry. A virgin's wildest moments of fame. A little feminine made of clay. Whose story was dubbed insane. After losing her pride to the unseen. Wouldn't you rather say to Jesus?  A godly spermicide. By a spirit-filled orgasm, Opened up her womb to lay inside. That which was preserved aside. Were you to be her spouse, Joseph, who never saw her blouse, Yet had to live in doubt, Over her unknown sex mate, Until that dream he couldn't interpret. The story used the word "espoused" Others say she was betrothed. Modern day dating or courtship. Yet nakedness was unexposed. Kept by their bond of friendship. And here we are hallucinating. Eating, dancing and singing.  So today I ask in rhetoric? Is she able to close her legs? Is he willing to wait for her?

As the days go by, And this year is a few days shy, With December ready to die, May we not just say goodbye, To those lonely passersby, Whose pockets are drained dry. They need us to hold their hands. Some just need your arms. Help one, feed many, call any. Help the orphans with money. And if you open your window, Throw out some food to that widow. Don't just wish them, rather give them a MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

A mirror doesn't just reflect It reveals what's in front of it We call it an image But I tell you, it's real  And so are words They can't touch you Yet, you will see yourself as you read further. Here comes the Ghanaian Christian defined in these episodes below: Although they pray consciously only when things are going wrong, they pray very unconsciously before they eat their daily meals. They pray more at night than day but they like day time church more than evening church services.  They love those who love them and hate their enemies. They want to be like Christ but cannot live 33 years without having sex. They forgive but will not fail to remind you again and again. They visit the shrine to inquire of an uncured illness or mysterious death but preach against idol worship. They call their children by the good names in the holy Bible. One out of seven Christians is a cheating partner, willing to change but not ready to stop making new friends. One out of eight Christ