State Of The Mind: A Poem

Graves, white-washed graves; sickly beauty;
Full without…
Of loud mouthfuls of knowledge to passersby who care,
Full within…
Of decaying putrid flesh; skeletons no one wants to talk about

Hypochondria, an almost welcome relief, is let out of the backdoor,
While melancholia ‘reins’ with bits.

At the expense of real inspiration,
Self, condemned to daily denial,
Is motivated to maintain the perfect IMAGE…

IDOLATRY! Idolatry it is,
Poor substitute for Godly piety, unabashedly denying
The very Power that could have been its Backer.

The accolades and laurels pushing for significance,
Are rewards for the good performance given…
And all are taken,
Except the unfancied plaque labelled ‘HEED!’

“It’s under control!
it’s under control!!”, they say,
Till when the last grip on the truth
Quickly slips out of the brakeless vehicle
Speeding down the steep gradient

As Blindness sadly smites Realization across the face,
Whatever high shoulders left are shrunk
And locked up under custody of roaring rodents,
That only moments ago had no semblance of a chance

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Targeting A Goal: A Poem By Alonge Adeyinka Joseph

Close to the pole of life, i set my ball
Aiming to get a goal.
But getting a goal
isn’t as easy as it seems

Through storms,
Through struggles

My life keeps abiding to those roles
I have to play
My mind keeps following the rhythm of success

My aim is to get a goal
My attention refuses to be diverted
along the slippery paths of life
’cause all I’m targeting is the goal.

Though I’m on the pitch,
pains will come
Through the fatigue that the game puts on me

But all I’m targeting is the pole,
And keep dancing to the to the tune of the game,
to get the goal and win the match

By perseverance, I bear the stress
’cause I say to myself
“Winners never quit,
Quitters never win”

The fear of failure makes
my heart to skip some beats
And at times, I get some sleepless nights

All these do to me
is just to keep me on my toes to get my goal

I’m so close to getting this goal,
I’m not done trying

Because, finally, in the end,
the stress would be worthwhile,
the trials would end,
and victory will be achieved!

P.S: Joe gave me this piece on the 5th day of February, 2013. So, this particular poem is almost a year old!
Well, Alonge Joseph Adeyinka can be reached via email on: cacprince03@yahoo.com.

Happy Sunday

The Jacobian Struggle: A Poem

He is the All-knowing, He sees everything coming
But this time, Common Sense is also justified by her children
It’s a night like none before, embedded with as much
that escorts the very moment of a discovery

Under a tree lie three, gallantly flunking the much
anticipated practicals, while
Ahead, a rock beckons, luring His sympathetically
aching knees with its ample space
The moment is near, and He’s a Man, like the rest of us
His heart is filled with heaviness in its profundity
Each beat drawing Him ever closer to the Inevitable
The spirit is willing,
The body is weak,
The soul is wandering undecidedly

For the last time, the Master kneels,
with a macabre mix of
desperation and depression, squeezing
blood from His pores after all the sweat is gone
Instead of oil, His Own Soul is pressed at Gethsemane,
broken and crushed, albeit by His permission

Like a blast from the past, it comes to Him:
the prince initially earmarked to be a supplanter,
who changes his lot by prevailing over The Father

Tough times never last, they first come before the crown
Circumstances and challenges are not forever,
the diamonds at the end of the gloomy tunnel of Despair are

Somewhere, somehow, something clicks!
Like a shining beacon of hope never before found,
the Messenger points out to Him
the ever present Grace He can always tap into

As a tactically-advantaged Field Marshall,
He rises, rejuvenated and renewed!

“Let’s go……..”

Fast: A Poem

The World wants it fast:
Fast food, fast cars and a fast-paced life
‘Gentle is dumb!’, they say,
so he is forced to fast
Yet the Gentle lions are not afraid to fast
boldness with meekness, even when gracefully fast
asleep!

It Would Pass: A Poem

I look up suddenly and I shudder at the sight.

This is what I want to see:
I want to see the clear blue sky,
interspersed with the occassional fluffy white bodies of cloud,
floating weightlessly in the firmament of the heavens,
shielding my dark skin from the hot sun-rays

But I don’t see that!
I see a very black cloud of smoke in the skies
My mind decides an explosion has occurred mid-air

I fret and worry,
I’m anxious about everything but nothing

Then the miraculous happens without my permission:
A heavenly zephyr blows
the dark cloud of smoke
out of my sight

Hey! Isn’t this supposed to be a dark, scary cloud?
But, alas, it’s no dark cloud at all
Only a hot-air balloon painted black!

I really don’t care whatever it is,
My business is that it is
now gone for good

I see the clear blue skies again,
And the peace, which passes all my understanding
reigns supreme in my heart and mind.

A Rare Flower: A poem

Grrriiinnnggg! It’s morning.
I check the mirror and find myself set
Purposefully, I walk into the Garden where Adam once found himself alone
Taking a meditative stroll in the company of the early morning sun,
I see it
Either by coincidence or by Divine providence, I cannot tell
But it’s right there, in the far corner of the Garden
A young bud sprouting,
A rare species, a jewel in any man’s eyes,
So beautiful and natural,
Intoxicatingly delicate, the pick of them all.
Instantly, I’m in tune with it

Zzzuuuuppp! The Indian music in my ears stop and
I find out that I’m in a fix:
Do I leave it to nature, or do I protect it
from the many non-existent wandering predators of my imagination’s creation,
Who have no other agenda than devouring all in their paths.

For a while, I step back from the garden and withdraw into myself,
Only stepping out occassionally to discuss my plight
with the self-proclaimed elders in the perimeter of my consciousness

Yet, the familiar still small voice lovingly warns me
of all the dangers and perils of nipping a rare scion so soon.
Alas, my conceit captains the suggestions of the ‘know-alls’,
and they all urge me to follow my ‘seat of smartness’

I’m back in the Garden, and I tell my Self, ‘Fish out your bud’
I’m excited and carefully become a wee bit careless
However, with crude expertise, I cut it off,
from whence it knew as home.

I saddle myself
with the responsibility of fending for it.
It is resilient, and with a stubborn desire to survive.
It thrives, but only at its normal rate,
Not less, but I’d never know whether it could have been more

So, what was all my fuss about?
I commune with my heart,
during my pillow-talk at night.
And the intuitive, inner, inspirator interferes once more, saying,
‘The Father in His Nature wills the Perfect rather than the Permissive for His own’

I wake up.

Sleepless Achievers: A Poem

Day unto day utters the speech received
from knowledge embedded in shadows of the night.

The valley is crowded like a sealed container of sardines
while there’s ample space on top of the mountain above all
The simply ordinary ones don’t know
or, rather won’t know,
so, they toss and turn,
receiving instant gratification, making
the rewards of the bed their own.

On the other hand, the sleepless
take their destinies into their hands and
violently press themselves into selection where it counts.

Generally, men sleep
and his enemy sows tares into their land
Yet, he gets into the land of the sleepless generals and can only
roar from a distance at the vigilantly sober.

The Father neither dozes nor slumbers and
His children follow His steps in the dark
as He leads them in a triumphant procession,
to the wide and spacious land only daylight reveals.

Brainfood

In the beginning, there’s formlessness and void
And I have this thought, so funny a thought,
‘How would I be wiser and better than I am now?’
Suddenly The Word is spoken. He seeks me out and finds me
He looks at me lovingly, and as I get ‘comfy’
I cannot help but notice the gleaming of a metal blade
Then He says, ‘I am after your heart!’
Without warning, His muscular arms lift the sharp double-edged sword
And sends it crashing straight through my head.

There is blood and tissue everywhere. And they are mine
I’m in pain, moreso, I’m in shock
My head is divided into equal halves
He takes a few steps back and silently admires the mess
Like an artist would look at a masterpiece.

I’m dead. Again I’m not
He picks my brain as I look on…
That’s all I remember,
Because a mightily rushing wind comes and makes me whole again

I try thinking, but can’t
My heart is meant to skip a beat, but it won’t

So The Word speaks again:
‘You are wiser and better than you could possibly ever be’
This time I don’t see Him, because He’s already in Me.

People Get Ready

My Daddy wrote some poems for a series of Christian magazine publications bearing the same name. I just felt I should share one of them.

PEOPLE GET READY

The greatest truths are the simplest,
As soon as a man is born, he begins to die;
Fame is vapour, riches take wings,
But eternity is written in the hearts of men.
The believers obey, the obedient believe.
People Get Ready,
Jesus is coming soon.

The outstanding among men,
Are the ones with understanding.
They prepare in the morning,
They are set in the night:
Waiting everyday for the sound of God’s trumpet.
The blemished and the wrinkled will not enter His Kingdom.
People get ready, this may happen anytime!

Three Words Remix

Great is He
Dwelling inside me,
despite my flaws-
Blatantly exposed imperfections
I knew them
and know them;
I know now,
Not knowing how
But was powerless
Odds against me.

You showed up
Amazing in grace
Mysterious in wonders
Saving me totally-
At one (mo)ment

Old habits beckon
Again I disappoint
You come by
Clothing me righteously-
Grace’s Unforced Rhythms

I proclaim it
Your Wor(thy Lord)ship
Words are colourless
Shying from justice
to my gratitude
I’d just say
Spirit, Son, Father,
I love You!!!