POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

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...

What do we guard with honour? Why are we awake till the last hour, Just to afford a cup of flour? Your gold you fail to mine, Yet ours, you take as thine. In suit you apparel thy pride, Expecting us on the other side, To cheer you or just hide. With poverty our dads abide, And we hold guns in order to stride. Protecting our only inherited gift, The golden pod thrown in the rift, By the deeds of a parliament, Who gave us pepper instead of mint. We shall defend what the middleman didn't, Yes, we vow to protect it, Our cherished cocoa beans, With bare arms if not guns. Until we send a message, Through to the Whitehouse, How bad our buyers massage, Cocoa prices in skirt and blouse.

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 labourers are few. But do we have enough Pew, To accommodate the souls anew? On which solid rock do you stand, If you won't build in 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 evi...

One nose, two trills. Breathe more, smell less One mouth, two ears. Listen more, speak less. Further beyond the sea, As far as the eyes can see. Two also are the ears to hear. So are the palms that cheer, When the lonely mouth does fear. So that we can keep watch in the day, Listen more to whatever they say, Close those palms when we have time to pray, And speak less but rather make hay, As often as we are in this flesh. Man and woman created He them, To compliment every now and then, Each other's whims and carprises, As economic goods soar in prices. That is the natural ratio. Two-is-to-one: But take no undue advantage. Even if women outnumber men in this age, Are you the messiah to minimize damage?

This is not a shy fish, But a natural law: Not meant for the selfish, Merely an act of flaw, Revealed by the Japanese Koi Fish. What then profits a man, If he gains weight and loses his soul? Why would one rather plan, To hide our dreams in a scroll? The Koi Fish would grow in a bowl, If the keeper confined it there. A few centimeters in length, And it feeds just a handful. Provide it with a clean flowing river, Give it her free habitat, And it grows longer than a meter. So we plead with that simile: Be not joyous over our quiescence, Open us up, let's feel the bliss in our smile. We are the youth, give us our inheritance!

You shouldn't be asking The essence of tasking People to spread the good news Whiles your status has many views Why not do it again Even though it was a disdain  On that attempt you found splendid Until friends made you regret you did So anytime I post beautiful pics  And you ask me why, why I don't preach But only post nice lady picks It's because I lack great topics Keep me on my toes as I wish Speak to my conscience even in British  Those things that we fear to say And you might be helping me save a soul. Because anyone who tries Would be theming great poems With spiritual ties To be echoed in heavenly realms.

Sometimes we don’t mean it, Even when in your face we spit We expect you to take it as fun Just because you’re our fan But you misconstrued it as pun. And so here we go, With morales and morals Coming to host the show Brown in view, but hearts whitened as snow Soldiers anew, but mere mortals. We are not brutes, Neither do we lick boots. Give us the peace we command And keep the freedom you demand Fear not, forget your worries For our guns are filled with toffees.

The connection between three or two, Of which you have experienced too Is not just the feeling we have Or the thing we call love. It’s more than one time friendship That existed between you and your classmate, Or the bond that held you checkmate With that lady you did impregnate. Something greater than that long ship, The umbilical chord from mum to son Which knit them in Companionship Equally communing like the moon and sun. This is an ideal relationship. The reason you and I are still intact Such that in times of no hope and hands on hip, You raise your head and dial my contact.  So check up and don’t let them give up, When will you ever sit up? Remind yourself of the people you once met, Upon whom the wrath of poverty has beget. Don’t block my number! Just because I now need you than ever. For even if I don’t fit in your  circle, I’m important to a lot of people, Either as an auntie or uncle.

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.